Touching Innocence
by Cytisus
Summary: A series of events leaves Rogue with the temporary ability to touch. But will it be enough? Rogue/Logan, post "Ascension, Part 2."
1. Prologue

This was one of those, "What if?" fics that started with a plot bunny and became a rabbit infestation. Or something like that. Essentially starts after the last episode for X-Men Evolution—and has spoilers for "Self Possession" as well. Definite R/L, Rogan; whatever it's being called these days. Rogue's age is older, though—and has an explanation for that.

Elements of the movie, including the city Westchester and the use of Rogue's real name, are used.

Chapters shift between Logan and Rogue's POV.

Wasn't really planning on posting this, but I don't think I've ever actually finished a long story before so I was proud of this baby. Either way, thanks for reading!

(X-Men Evolution and related elements are copyright Warner Brothers and Marvel Comics. Used without permission, no intent to sell.)

* * *

TOUCHING INNOCENCE

* * *

It was finally over.

When Logan had first detailed her on her "special assignment," Rogue had been less than thrilled. She knew she had to take responsibility for bringing Apocalypse back to life, but to bring that poor small child into the fray?

But as Logan told her, she and Leech would be the last resort. Take his powers—which they hoped she would have better control over—long enough to shut down Apocalypse and re-entomb him as his cohorts did over 5,000 years ago.

Mission accomplished.

And as she and Kurt made their way out of the pyramid, they had told Mystique off. While Rogue didn't think she'd ever be able to consider Mystique her mother—after all, she hadn't even been raised by her—she was surprised to find Kurt turning his back on her.

Blood relations tended to make matters far more convoluted than they should be. The fact that Kurt had finally gotten passed that was a good sign, and Rogue was proud of him.

As he teleported them to catch them up with the others, Rogue began to think about Leech again, and wondered if he had woken up yet from her power-stealing.

She sighed. Like everyone else she'd ever touch, it'd probably take a couple hours or more. Maybe a lot more, if his age made him more vulnerable to her deadly touch.

"Rogue." Her name was stated with an urgency that caused her to stop. Rogue realized belatedly that her thoughts had made her fall behind the others in returning to the jet. Looking behind her to the source of the voice, she saw Logan hadn't boarded either.

He was walking toward her deliberately, and she briefly wondered if she had done something wrong. He seemed to be concentrating on her, and ... sniffing?

He stopped directly in front of her, but was looking beyond her as he smelled the air. She looked up at him expectantly, thinking that maybe he had sensed some danger in the air.

"What is it?" She looked around, already peeling a glove off in anticipation of putting Apocalypse down once and for all, if she had to.

"Your smell—it's different." His gaze guided down and looked over her like a slide in a microscope. She fidgeted under his intense stare.

"Excuse meh?" Her drawl kicked in to overdrive when she became nervous, and Logan looking at her intently was definitely making her hairs stand on end, for more than one reason.

She chastised herself and shook the thoughts away. She had no reason thinking about him in that manner.

Logan glanced down at her exposed, pale hand. Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed it with his own gloved hand and placed it on his cheek.

Had she not been utterly shocked by this movement, she may have slapped him. "Logan! Dontcha think Ah got enough people floatin' around in my head?!" She felt her hand brush the stubble from his cheek as he held it there, sending a volt of electricity through her body.

But it was not the kind of electricity and power she was used to feeling. She pulled away quickly—out of instinct more than anything—but was keenly aware that Logan should have been sprawled out for the count.

She gripped her bare hand at the wrist with her gloved one, as if it was poisonous to her now. "How?" was all she could muster, looking up at Logan with hopeful eyes.

"I don't know. Maybe Leech's power is masking yours. Do you feel any different?"

Rogue studied the ground with her eyes, but concentrated on her body to see if she could sense any subtle differences. Other than feeling completely drained from the ordeal of Apocalypse, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. As her mind raced, she looked back up at Logan, took her bare hand and cupped his face before she realized what she was doing.

"Rogue," Logan said, sounding a bit shocked at her actions. His voice was soft, however, and he did nothing to stop her. Her eyes remained transfixed on the connection of their skin, fascinated by the foreign sensation of it without the coupled feeling of energy and thoughts and emotions that didn't belong to her.

Tears began to glisten at the corner of her eyes, and she realized she must look like a complete idiot to Logan, standing there admiring such a stupid little gesture. A smile nonetheless tugged at the corner of her lips, even has her mouth still lay agape at the sheer exhilaration that coursed through her body. Snapping out of her daydream, her eyes finally connected with Logan's and the smile that threatened to form exploded into an undeniable girly laugh as she threw herself into his arms for a tight embrace.

Logan caught himself before they both fell backward, but he returned the hug. Her laughter must have made him drop his guard somewhat, too, as he twirled her once before letting go. She looked back up at him before leaving his arms completely, and he smiled at her as he brushed a couple white strands out of her face. Their eyes remained locked for a moment too long, she guessed, because something snapped and Logan took a step back.

As if hiding his previous action, Logan cleared his throat and placed a hand at the small of her back, guiding them both to the jet. "Come on, maybe the Professor will know what's going on."

Despite the slight awkward end to their hug, a beam of a smile emerged on Rogue's lips again. She took off her other glove and admired her hands as if they were made of gold.

To her, the shackles of a forsaken life had been released from them.


	2. Isolation

The smile had long since left Rogue's face as she sat in her room on the windowsill, staring off at the dark scenery before her.

Temporary.

The Professor had said many things to her—as well as Hank—but both had used that ugly word.

They weren't for sure how long, though. Leech's power was undeniably strong, especially since it had developed in him long before most mutants developed their powers. They weren't for sure how, but they believed that his powers to negate energy may have simply quashed her powers for the time being. They also believed it'd last a couple days, like Mystique's power had when she had touched her.

Oh, how she hated that woman's mind.

Rogue quickly changed the course of her thoughts, unwilling to think of the labyrinth of thoughts she had received from the shapeshifter. As she stared off into the night sky, her mind drifted to Apocalypse again.

When she had sucked the powers out of almost everyone she knew to revive the monster, the only reason she kept her sanity was through Mesmero's control on her mind. In that brief moment before she had awakened Apocalypse, she herself had awoken to a dark and unforgiving mind. Before it had taken any hold on her, however, Apocalypse had grabbed her hand and taken all of the mutants' powers she had borrowed.

But he did not take their memories.

When the X-Men had all recovered from the field of energy that Apocalypse had thrown at them during his escape, they had apparently been greeted with the sound of Rogue's painful shrilling. She hadn't been quite all there, but pieces of what she remembered and what she had been told by the others gave her a pretty clear picture.

She did remember Logan trying to snap her out of it as she convulsed from the amount of minds that had begun to fight to take control of her mind. It had felt like the world kept shifting under her feet as each persona attempted to use powers she no longer had.

They battled against her and each other, trying to hone nonexistent powers and draining her body of energy. They invaded her mind with an ambush of memories, some so horrifying she apparently had begun trying to claw at her head to get them out.

That was when Logan had to pin her down.

They had sedated her with a tranquilizer gun they kept in the jet for particularly dangerous mutants. When they got her back to the mansion, they had placed her in a medically-induced coma while Professor Xavier slowly worked to rid her mind of each of the memories.

When she woke up almost a week later, Logan had greeted her with one of the most relieved smiles she'd ever seen on his face.

But along with it came the knowledge that they had failed the mission to stop Apocalypse's awakening. And, while never said out loud, she knew the blame rested on her.

She could not remember the memories that had plagued her since the Professor had blocked them out, but every now and then certain scenes from a movie, or a place she knew she had never been to would bring back inklings of emotions and surges of thoughts that she knew weren't hers. And—while not often—nightmares had her screaming awake in the middle of the night, with no recollection of what it was that had terrified her.

She often wondered if having an unknown monster lurking in the recesses of her mind was better than knowing whose memories were affecting her.

Now, as she sat in her dark room—with a slew of new memories and emotions thanks to Gambit using her to help him save his father—she wondered if she had made the wrong choice by closing herself off to the rest of her teammates.

She had seen Leech after she had taken his powers. He was in the school's infirmary, being watched over by his mother. The woman had not looked upon Rogue with hate, as she probably knew that it was a necessary evil Rogue had to do to her son to save the world.

But there was wariness in her eyes that kept Rogue from entering the room; she only nodded respectfully and quickly returned upstairs.

It was there that she announced she would wait for Leech's powers to wear off in her room, and that until then people were to remain far away from her.

She had used the excuse that because of Leech's powers masking her own, there was no telling when her powers would come back and she couldn't take the chance of hurting anyone else by accident. She also had pointedly mentioned that she didn't think her mind could take anymore invaders.

The latter excuse tended to gain more understanding, as they had seen what absorbing too many powers had done to Rogue; not once, but twice.

Thus, she had resigned her temporary gift to the confines of loneliness. While the excuses she had given the others were true, they were not the real reason she had chosen to hide.

Truth be told, she was afraid what the brief change would do to her.

The touch she had given Logan was amazing—not only because she could really feel skin for the first time in over a decade, but because she had grown quite fond of Logan, especially when he took care of her after her powers had turned against her the first time.

Having the ability to touch would probably cause her to do some irrational things, especially since she only had hours to really enjoy it. She didn't want to get herself worked up over possibilities that would be wretchedly taken away from her again.

She didn't think she would be able to handle transitioning back to her old self in such a short amount of time, and was even more afraid what the addiction would do to her afterwards.

For instance, trying to take Leech's powers again.

She involuntarily shivered at such a cruel thought. That boy was in an unconscious state because of her.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She knew this was the right thing to do, but it didn't mean she had to like it.

Her mind drifted to Logan again as she shifted her position on the windowsill to lean her head against the cool pane of glass. He had noticeably balked at her decision to remain isolated, but had resisted coming after her when she made her way to her room afterwards.

She wasn't sure if he was aware of her feelings for him. There had been some very awkward moments that they had shared during her recovery from awakening Apocalypse, as well as before when she had first lost control of her powers. She knew the age difference was not the entire reason for it.

While her classmates thought her to be eighteen, in reality she was twenty-one.

Mystique's memories had clarified a lot of Rogue's past: a slight positive in the slew of negatives that came with knowing what Mystique knew. When Destiny had first learned of what Rogue's power would become, she and Mystique had prepared to hide its manifestation by keeping Rogue away from people. While they knew what her powers would be, they weren't able to pinpoint when they would happen.

Thus, at the tender age of 11, Destiny had begun to tell Rogue of a skin condition she had that required her to cover up and keep her distance from others. It was contagious, she had told her. Mystique had apparently played the role of a doctor, examining Rogue and confirming the illness.

It was the only form Mystique had taken in front of Rogue, at least before becoming Rogue's principal. Beyond that, Rogue had never known Mystique, in her natural form or otherwise. Destiny had been her sole caregiver.

Being only a child, they knew that her "illness" would be a hard act to sell, especially since her skin appeared quite normal. Thus, through Mystique's memories Rogue learned that they had purposely made her sick by drugging her, forcing her to be taken out of school and isolated from the world. Rogue's own memories of the ordeal made her shiver, now knowing all those days she had wished she could just die were all because of them, and not some rare disease.

After a year, they stopped making her physically ill, but told her the skin condition would never go away. After months of begging and pleading, Destiny had agreed to allow Rogue to go back to school, as she had promised her to remain covered up and to keep her distance from other students.

They had ruined her life on the knowledge of a mutation that hadn't even surfaced yet.

All the years she had had the chance to touch, they had taken away from her. And in addition to that, she had lost two years of schooling because of her faked illness.

When she did return to school, she and Destiny had moved to another town, and Rogue had taken it upon herself to keep her age the same as everyone else's by lying. She had begun going by the nickname Rogue instead of Anna Marie, and had become the goth kid that no one bothered, just as Destiny and Mystique had wanted.

When her life was once more turned upside down during the true manifestation of her powers, she began schooling at Bayville High and continued to lie about her age. The Professor knew how old she was, as well as Storm and Logan, and all had promised to keep it hidden until she was ready to tell the others.

She knew her classmates would understand, but was afraid of the pity she would get from them upon learning why, as well as the harassment at school by others. She could already here the dumb jokes a mile away.

Rogue sighed and wondered if twenty-one really was her true age. Even though the Professor had wiped the majority of mutants out her mind, they had left their mark there, leaving her feeling worn down and impenetrable to the world. Nothing could get to her.

While she may as well have lived over a hundred years emotionally, Logan had had the lovely option of doing so physically.

She wondered if you could really classify as one being worse than the other.

A loud, obnoxious banging nearly knocked Rogue off her perch on the windowsill in surprise. Grumbling at the indignity of her less-than-graceful response, she hollered, "What part of isolation dontcha understand?"

"All of it," came the gruff reply through the solid oak door.

Rogue sighed and came up to the door to keep her voice from traveling further than it had to. "Logan, Ah told ya—"

"Will you just open up Rogue and talk to me? I'm not gonna bite."

Rogue had to smile at that. She almost said, "Why not?" but thought against it as she sighed loudly enough for him to hear and unlocked the door.

Instead of opening it, however, she made her way back to the windowsill. It took a moment before Logan got the picture and opened the door himself, closing it as he made his way into her room.

His eyes squinted at the darkness in her room compared to the brightly lit hallways outside. He stood there for a moment, probably to let his senses adjust, before making his way over to the other side where Rogue had sat back down. She looked away from him, staring out the window.

"I don't get it, Stripes. You were so happy at the thought of being able to touch people, and then all of a sudden ... you've imprisoned yourself." He leaned against the opposite side of the windowsill from where she sat, and crossed his arms. His eyes could have glared a hole right through her skull, if he'd been Cyclops.

"Temporary isn't the same as control, Logan. What am Ah supposed to do, happily touch people left an' right until one of them falls into a coma? Yeah, Ah'm sure the kids would love to play some deadly musical chairs with mah powers." Rogue took her eyes off the world outside and settled with looking at her gloved hands.

She smirked, figuring she had put them on without realizing it. Some habits were hard to get rid of. She supposed this was one she probably shouldn't get out of the habit of doing, just yet.

"Marie—"

"Rogue," she quipped acidly, annoyed at the use of her real name.

"You told me your name for a reason, so I'm calling you Marie. All right, Marie?"

God, why'd she have to tell him her real name? At least he didn't know it was actually her middle name. "Fine," she said haughtily, although with a lot less bite to it. She resignedly thought that she _was_ Marie at the moment, anyway: Marie didn't have poisonous skin, as far as she was concerned.

"Now, _Marie_, who's to say this is temporary? That's just the doc and teach warning ya. They don't even know what to expect from this. Maybe it's you actually gaining control of your powers—did ya ever think about that?"

Rogue looked Logan in the eyes, studying him. His gaze was strong, and looking for some sign of hope in her. She feared that she just didn't have it in her to give him that kind of satisfaction—she couldn't until she believed that was truly the case at hand.

"Logan, Ah'm sorry, but as much as Ah wish that was the truth—"

"When the minds in your head first went berserk, and we were trying to get through to you, you started morphin' into all the people you had touched. _All _of them. And you were usin' powers from some you hadn't touched in almost a year. Their powers stay inside you, Marie. Maybe Leech's powers will give you what you need to gain control."

Rogue had never taken her eyes off Logan. The hopefulness in his voice was obvious even to her, and she wondered briefly if the feelings that she had felt grow for him over the past couple months had had the same effect on him.

He shifted and sat next to Rogue, his back to the window. His gaze descended as he reached down to grab her hands, which were resting in her lap. Both of hers fit into one of his, and he used his other hand to peel her gloves off slowly.

She watched the gloves land unceremoniously onto the ground, then shivered as she felt his own bare hands clasp hers gently. His hands were rough, and his bones thick. She closed her eyes and gently felt along his skin, trying to memorize the sensation.

She hadn't held someone's hands in over ten years. She wasn't even sure if she ever had, for that matter. She wasn't even allowed to get close to Destiny during her fake skin condition. God, the simplest of things she had missed out on....

The hands she was practically massaging at this point left her embrace, and before she could open her eyes she felt them on her face, brushing away tears that she wasn't aware had formed.

The move had an opposite effect, however, because the tears refused to stop. The sheer power of emotions she was feeling was beginning to overpower her, and she was vaguely aware that these were feelings her body was completely foreign to.

"Hey," Logan whispered, cupping her face while still gently wiping away the tears with his thumbs. "It's okay."

"Ah know," her voice sounded so weak, so drained. "Ah just ... Ah don't know if Ah'll be able to handle—to handle losing...." she couldn't finish her sentence, instead taking a deep breath to quell the sob that threatened to escape from her throat.

She felt Logan's hands move from her face to her shoulders, and he pulled her next to him. Her head leaned against his chest as he draped both arms around her protectively, and she felt herself wrap both of her arms around one of his, relishing in the skin-on-skin contact.

She had hugged Logan many times before. But she had always erred on the side of caution, which had made the hugs awkward. He never flinched from her, however. While she would carefully place her hands across his shoulders to avoid his exposed neck, and keep her head low next to his covered chest, he would wrap his arms around her without hesitation. Many times, she would feel his face bury into the side of her neck, where only her hair had saved him from certain dreamland.

Now, however, she did not fear his skin, and she let herself hold onto him as if her life depended on it.


	3. The Smell of Truth

Logan wasn't sure what the hell he was doing.

He came to Marie's room with the intent on giving her a piece of his mind. He had sat idly by in the Professor's office—along with most of the others—and had listened to her as she and Hank had explained her condition.

Then she went and told everyone she was going to hide in her room until Leech's powers faded away.

The other students started arguing about her decision, telling her to enjoy it; she told them about not knowing when it'll kick back in and being afraid of going nutty again if she accidentally touched someone.

That was probably the best punch she could've thrown, because no one said anything else to try and talk some sense into her. They had all seen how she lost control the first time, and Logan was pretty sure that he still had nightmares about that scream she let out after awakening Apocalypse.

He watched as she left, half tempted to run after her, but too chickenshit to do it. Things had changed between him and her, and he was keenly aware that telepaths lurked the mansion—and on occasion, people's minds.

He wasn't sure why he felt almost ashamed of the feelings he had grown for Marie. She was almost twenty when he met her, and far too grown up inside her head.

And at first, he didn't think of her that way. Even though her age threw him, she still was in high school—thanks to Mystique—and she still had the attitude of a rebellious teenager.

But when she first lost control of her powers, he had seen the true side of Marie—the side that didn't venture into the public eye.

He stayed by her side as she slowly recovered from the coma her body placed itself in, and helped her through Professor Xavier's treatments to help rid her mind of all the life forces she had taken since her manifestation began.

Mystique's was the hardest to quell, as she remained illusive even as a figment within Marie's mind.

Logan slept on a chair next to Marie for many nights before Professor Xavier had the chance to rid her mind of Magneto: his memories had given her the worst nightmares.

Through most of it, Logan felt a strong sense to protect Marie, although he had attributed it to his responsibility to the school, and to his teammates. But when the students and Storm went on a cruise, and the Professor to a conference, the two decided to deliver on Rogue's true age she had just turned—twenty-one—and enjoy some beer while watching a movie.

While he certainly wasn't going to let her get drunk, it became quickly apparent that she was a lightweight. Either that, or she just became very bold when she drank.

As Logan began to think he might have to carry her to bed—and remind himself to limit her intake next time—Marie had pulled a translucent scarf off a coat rack, pulled it taut around the lower half of Logan's face, and kissed him.

Logan was utterly frozen in shock, but as he began to taste Marie's mouth through the thin fabric, the animal within him succumbed and he returned the kiss in eager, wrapping his arms around her.

The scarf, wet with both of their mouths, managed to fall when Marie lost her grip on it, and she abruptly stopped, dipped to pick it up while slightly giggling, and passed out.

Logan didn't know whether to praise or hate alcohol after that night. He had put her to bed in the infirmary, since the rest of the team would be home the next day, and slept in the chair next to her out of habit more than anything.

When she had awoken the next morning, she had a monster headache and never mentioned the kiss from the previous night.

Logan assumed she didn't remember, and really wasn't keen on pointing it out to her, either. But it was that night that he realized his need to be with Marie and protect her was more than just some responsibility to the school.

However, he was scared to try and venture what it was exactly.

He only wanted Marie to be happy, and seeing her chain herself to her room did not seem the best of plans when she had the chance to enjoy some freedom.

He certainly wasn't planning on holding Marie the way he was now, but her silent trembles told him she didn't need anymore confusion in her life—especially from him.

Her smell wasn't too different from when her skin was "on," for lack of a better term. But when they had walked out of that pyramid he could almost sense the change that his adrenaline had not let him notice earlier.

Her happiness, however, changed her smell quite a bit, as did her sadness. And now, unfortunately, he could smell grief on Marie's body, as well as a bit of....

Logan tensed without meaning to, causing Marie to sit up from his arms and look at him. The whites of her eyes glistened from earlier tears, and her face held an almost angelic look to it in the moonlight.

Logan quickly got up, unsure of what to do.

"Logan, what is it?" Marie asked. He smelled fear now, too.

He sighed, kneeling in front of her where she still sat on the windowsill. "Nothing, darlin'. I just ... don't hide out in yer room tomorrow, okay?" He gave her a kiss on the top of her head, where hair blocked him from skin.

With that, he stood up, turned and left, feeling like a complete ass.


	4. Pineapples and Punching Bags

Marie, she decided to call herself today. She wasn't going to let the other students know that was her name today, nor anytime soon for that matter, but calling herself that seemed to alleviate some of the uptightness she awoke with this morning.

Last night had not been a good night's rest. She hadn't had any nightmares, thankfully, but Logan leaving so abruptly from her room had plagued her thoughts, making her restless. What had she done to scare him off so suddenly?

She had been able to calm down quite a bit once Logan had pulled her into his embrace, and she had enjoyed the feel of his upper arm on her bare hands. The touch of skin was still something she was mesmerized by, and perhaps she let her mind wander too far.

While Logan was no telepath, she had an inkling that he might as well be with his heightened senses. His reaction to the smell of her slight arousal probably answered any lingering questions she had on whether he had feelings for her.

Sighing, she made her way to the kitchen. It was well after breakfast time, and most of the kids were in school. Those that had graduated, which included Scott and Jean, would probably be doing some form of training in the Danger Room.

She was a graduate too, she reminded herself. A fairly recent one, but out of high school once and for all. She had taken an exit exam to finish a bit early, and had decided not to walk with Scott and Jean—it was probably a good thing, too, considering she had been under the control of Mesmero that day.

The thought brought a frown to her face, but as she entered the kitchen the frown contorted into shock at catching a rather private moment.

"Whoa," was all Marie said, covering her eyes with one of her gloved hands. Gloves were like a second skin to her, and she figured they could act as a precaution for now, despite Logan's pestering from the night before.

Scott and Jean, standing before her and rather intertwined, stopped their make out session with a couple of gasps. They quickly separated, straightening out their respective clothing. Scott spoke first.

"Rogue! Uh, sorry, we were...."

"I thought you were in isolation?" Jean inserted, seeing as Scott couldn't finish his statement. Her voice rang slightly of conceit, but Marie realized after a moment that it was probably more out of embarrassment from being caught. She ignored the bit of attitude and removed her hand from her face, even though she never really had completely blocked her vision. It's hard to look away from something you think about on a constant basis.

Well, not constant. She wasn't that bad off, yet.

"A girl's gotta eat," she said with a bit of a smirk, crossing her arms. "Ah didn't mean to interrupt, of course." She made her way over to the fridge while the other two looked on with faces cherry red.

She wondered how much of that was embarrassment, and how much was a result of the heat they were generating between each other. A bit of blush started to form from her own thoughts, then, and she hid it by shoving her face into the open door of the fridge.

"Well, we'll get out of your way," Jean finally said, practically dragging Scott along with her toward the exit to the hallway.

"Yeah," Scott added absentmindedly, but stopped the pull of his girlfriend before they made it to the door, looking back at Marie. "Hey, you know you don't have to hide in your room around us. Don't feel like you can't, you know, be yourself."

Marie looked up to see him smiling, and Jean smiled as if in agreement before continuing her exit, Scott in tow.

As the kitchen door swung shut, Marie sighed. She looked at the fruit bowl she had in her hand, and used her hips to shut the fridge door as she made her way back to the kitchenette. Scott's words echoed in her head, and she resisted the urge to slam the bowl onto the table as she sat.

Being herself was exactly what she didn't want to be right now, or ever again. She was Marie today, and she wanted to be Marie forever. She wanted to do to someone what Jean had been doing to Scott, to someone she really cared about. A particular image of a man began to form in her head, but she quickly dispelled it and focused on breakfast.

She pulled off her gloves and used her fingers to pick out the pineapple chunks in the bowl, her favorite fruit. She held one in the air, admiring it a bit before popping it into her mouth. So tangy and sweet, with a bit of sour, all surrounded by a tough—almost painful—exterior.

The fruit, too, her mind cryptically reminded her.

* * *

Marie made her way down to the combat room to get in some exercise. She decided to ditch the long sleeved shirt and sweat pants she usually wore in exchange for some exercise shorts and a tank top. No one was home to accidentally touch her, and Scott and Jean were most likely finishing their flogging in a more private place.

If they were in the combat room, so help her she'd kick both their asses. She wasn't in the mood to see anymore of that ... stuff.

She didn't need more visuals added to the thoughts she had been plagued with recently.

So when the doors to the room slid open with a hiss and she saw it wasn't empty, she opened her mouth to define the functions and purpose of a bedroom to the two.

"Hey kid," Logan panted, in mid kick to a punching bag. When his foot made contact, the bag hit the ceiling before swinging maniacally back and forth.

Marie's mouth was still slightly open from her stopped-short lecture, and she cleared her throat. "Oh, hey Logan." The door hissed shut behind her, causing her to jump a little.

Logan cocked an eyebrow at her, one of his trademark expressions. "Expecting someone else?"

Marie smiled, walking over to one of the mats on the other side of the room to begin her stretches. "No, you just startled meh, is all."

"I'm glad you're out and about," he changed the subject, grabbing a water bottle and taking a swig.

"Yeah. Figured most everyone's gone this time'a day. Ah think Ah'd go stir crazy cooped up, anyway." She suddenly felt very exposed in her attire, and decided to keep her gloves on while stretching.

Maybe he'd take the hint and leave.

"So you wanna spar?"

Guess not.

"Ah don't know, Logan, Ah'm not really dressed to." She indicated her attire as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You look dressed to me, Stripes." He smirked at her when she responded with a glare.

"You know what Ah mean."

Logan put his water bottle back on the shelf. "You aren't gonna hurt me, Marie. And worse case scenario, I heal. You can't drop me like the others."

Marie had her hands resting on her hips, but said nothing. He, unfortunately, had a point. She realized, almost absent mindedly, that she had actually never absorbed Logan. Ever.

Even during Apocalypse, she had never touched him like the others. She wondered if it was because Apocalypse already had some form of healing capability. That would explain why he had lived for so long.

She briefly contemplated what it'd be like to have Logan inside her head, but thought better of it. He had said that he could smell her mutation, when it was active. If anything happened to cause it to turn on, he'd probably be aware of it before she was, and would be able to get out of harm's way.

Besides, the look he was giving her was egging her on.

"All right. Let's spar." To prove she wasn't afraid, Marie took off her gloves, tossing them to the side of the room.

Logan smiled at that, and walked with her to the large mat in the center of the room. Marie took up a defense stance, as she'd been taught, and the two began to circle each other.

Logan, of course, took the initiative and came at her low. Marie grabbed his shoulders and used them as leverage as she propelled herself over him, twisting in the air and landing a couple feet away. He turned quickly, however, and she narrowly avoided his arm by ducking. Deciding to do a bit offensive, she kicked out her foot, getting it between Logan's legs.

Staying low, she used her body's weight to spin, hoping to catch Logan's leg and tripping him. However, he maneuvered easily out of the attempt and, instead, grabbed her extended leg.

She cried out in alarm as he lifted the leg, lifting her with it. He paused momentarily, as if to ask her what she was going to do now, but she didn't give him time to speak.

She bent her knee, bringing herself even closer to Logan, dropped her back so she was upside down with Logan still holding her leg, and used all the strength she could muster to kick forward.

Logan, along with her leg, went right over her, and he flipped through the air, landing on his back.

Unfortunately, he never let go of her leg, and once she did her semi-flip, she catapulted with him onto the mat, landing hazardously on top of him, in somewhat of a sitting position.

Before she could get her bearings, he grabbed her and they rolled, both grappling for the upper hand. Marie had thought she had gotten one of his arms pinned behind his back, but felt his legs wrap around her waist, flipping her over onto her back, hard. He ended up on top of her, his arms pinning her shoulders down.

They both were breathing heavily from the adrenaline and exercise. They remained silent for a moment as they both caught their collective breaths.

"You were supposed ta let go of mah leg," Marie finally stated, sounding only slightly indignant.

"You gotta be prepared for anything, kid," Logan quipped back. He made no move to unpin her.

"Most of mah enemies don't have skeletons made of metal. They woulda flown across the room, mah leg all but forgotten about." She was fully aware of their positions, and felt herself focusing on his hands that had moved to grip her bare shoulders. The feel of his skin, slick with sweat, was causing her thoughts to wander to other ... stuff, and she reminded herself that this was business.

Teacher and mentor. Teammates sparring.

"You wouldn't be able to flip Jugs," Logan argued back, referring to the unstoppable Juggernaut.

"Ha! Ah don't think meh and Juggy would be wrestlin' with one another, sugah."

Something flashed in Logan's eyes when Marie let out her small laugh, and both had shut up pretty quickly. His eyes were intense, and Marie found herself staring intensely back up at him, perplexed at his expression. Her brow furrowed a bit, thinking she may have said something wrong, and she opened her mouth to ask him what she had said.

Words did not form, however, because at that moment Logan closed the distance between their faces and kissed her.

Marie's eyes widened as his lips found hers. It was a soft kiss, almost hesitant. The feelings they aroused in her were far from that, however.

She quickly returned the motions, and if Logan's hands weren't pinning her shoulders down, she would have added roaming hands to the moment.

The feel of his lips, moist with saliva, compared against the stubble on his chin and cheeks, was hypnotizing. She felt the tip of his tongue prod gently at her teeth, and she invited it in by opening her mouth. Her tongue began an intimate dance with his own, and she silently thanked the French, if they were the true inventors of this amazing show of affection.

As they explored each other's mouths, their kiss deepened, and became more fierce—almost desperate.

By this time Logan's hands had moved; one to steady his heavy frame above her, the other wrapped around her waist, lifting her up towards him so that only her legs were still on the floor.

Her arms, now free, had come to wrap around his neck, and her hands eagerly enjoyed the feel of his tresses, which were becoming more tangled by the second with her groping.

Then, suddenly, it stopped. Marie hit the mat, hard, and felt what little breath she had knocked out of her. It took her a second to realize Logan was no longer above her, but instead a couple feet away, having stood up.

She used her elbows to lift herself up enough to see him. "Logan?"

His face was contorted in confusion. He looked at her, wide-eyed, then looked to the ground, almost shamefully so.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I'm sorry, Rogue."

Before Marie could say anything, Logan had exited the combat room, the doors hissing shut loudly in the silence left by him.

He had called her Rogue. The untouchable, loner Rogue.

She lay back down on the mat, her hands rubbing her face in frustration. What the hell had just happened?


	5. Heavy Legs

Leech had awoken.

That was what Storm had knocked on her door for, anyhow. Rogue had been laying on her bed, staring at her ceiling when the knock reverberated through her room. Yes, she was Rogue again. It had been stupid to think she could ever return to being Marie. As she listened to the stillness after the knocking, she had wondered briefly if Logan had decided to face her after all.

When the white-haired woman entered upon her grunt of approval, Rogue was not surprised.

She had left equally calmly, and Rogue wished she had the emotional balance and control of the older woman. It seemed as though nothing could penetrate her smooth demeanor.

The statement that Leech was awake had not been just some form of notification. Rogue wasn't stupid. Storm and the Professor wanted her to come down and visit with the boy, even though they never asked her to.

They wanted to make sure he was not afraid of her.

She remembered his face as she reached out to touch him. He was so scared. The team had wondered whether the boy would automatically put up his defenses and turn Rogue's skin off before she could touch him and steal his life force.

She kind of wished he had.

Leech: his last name would suit her better, she thought. He didn't take powers; he just suppressed them. That didn't hurt anybody.

She was the vampire mutant.

She was pacing her room now. She'd been cooped up in there since the incident in the combat room today.

Incident. Ha. That made it sound like some machine went on the fritz or something.

No, she just crossed the line with a man who meant everything to her, and watched as it blew up in her face.

It didn't matter, anyway. Soon she would be the girl with the deadly touch, a leech in every sense of the term.

Before she realized it, her pacing had ended up with a direction and she was outside the medbay doors, staring through the window at Leech, his mother, the Professor, and Storm, all talking and smiling.

When the glass doors hissed open and she entered, the talking and smiling ceased.

"Hey, Ah heard you were up," Rogue managed to say. She remained next to the doors, her arms crossed over herself. She had her usual attire on, fit to protect the world from her presence. When he smiled politely at her, she added, "Are you feeling okay?"

Leech, still smiling, nodded.

Rogue dared a glance at his mother, who was looking at her. While not outright glaring at her, the woman definitely was not smiling. She made no move to say anything, however, and finally looked back to her son, whom she was sitting next to.

"So how does it feel to know you saved the world?" Rogue braved another question, preferring anything over the deathly quiet that had blanketed the room upon her entrance.

Leech's polite smile turned into a general, childish grin. "Well, you saved the world."

"But we couldn't have done it without your powers," Rogue added. She had purposely said 'we' instead of 'I.'

Leech nodded understandingly, but he bit shyly at his lower lip, as if debating whether to say something. Rogue looked questioningly at him, but the Professor interrupted before she had the chance to ask.

"Dorian here was hoping to ask you a couple questions regarding his powers," he said, maneuvering his wheelchair toward Rogue. He looked to Leech's mother. "May I offer you a cup of tea in my office, Ms. Leech? I'd like to discuss some options about Dorian's schooling."

Ms. Leech looked at Rogue hesitantly, but nodded politely as the Professor made his way past Rogue and into the hallway. Ms. Leech refrained from looking at Rogue again as she followed, but as Storm passed she squeezed Rogue's shoulder reassuringly.

The doors hissed shut and the silence quickly enveloped the room again.

"Dorian, huh? That's a cool name," Rogue finally said, walking over to the boy and sitting in the chair his mother had been sitting in.

"I don't really like it," he replied, making a face.

"Oh. Well, what would you like to be called?"

"I like Leech. My mom thinks it's silly to call me by my last name, though. But it fits, for a mutant."

Rogue frowned a bit. "Dorian fits as a mutant's name, too."

Leech smiled at her. His pale green face may have made someone else cry monster, but to Rogue, it made him seem so innocent. His expression, however, was far older then it should have been for a boy his age. He had to grow up way too fast, she realized sadly.

"Rogue's not your real name, is it?" he asked innocently.

Rogue smiled at his quick observation. The boy was smart. "No, it's not."

Silence reigned for a little while before Leech finally asked, "What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"To borrow powers?" Leech looked shyly down, obviously afraid to offend Rogue, but curiosity getting the better of him. "Does it hurt?"

Rogue sighed a bit. "It doesn't feel good, but it doesn't hurt." Leech looked up again, perplexed. "It's kind of like running really fast for a long time. You know, when your legs get heavy but you keep moving?" Leech nodded. "It feels that way all over. It drains me, Ah guess, to use my powers, but then Ah start to feel the other person's powers, too."

Leech nodded, seeming to understand.

Rogue hesitated a bit, shifting her sitting position nervously. "Does it ... did it hurt you?"

The boy, to his credit, only slightly flinched at the memory. "No, not really hurt. Just felt really tired, really fast. Kind of like what you described with the running, I think."

Rogue nodded, but frowned slightly. She wondered if the draining feeling she felt was the use of her own powers, or her feeling the other person's feelings of being drained themselves. She shuddered at the thought, but wondered if maybe that was what she got, for taking their powers the way she did. A taste of her own medicine, so to speak.

"You were able to control my powers?" Leech broke her train of thought. Rogue nodded. "Do you think you can teach me?"

Rogue smiled at Dorian. "Ah can try."


	6. The Morality of Immortality

Logan walked deliberately through the hallway. He had no idea what he was going to say, or do, but he knew he had to do something.

Reaching his desired destination, he knocked twice.

Not receiving an answer, and all too pent up in his deliberation, he tried to open the door. He was surprised to find it unlocked.

Upon inspection inside, however, he realized it was because the room was vacant.

"Damn it," he muttered, shutting the door behind him and walking back down the hallway.

Had she been in her room as he thought, he would have told her that ... that ... hell, he didn't know what he'd tell her.

Because he didn't know what to say, or do.

Growling at the ridiculousness of the situation, Logan made his way downstairs quickly, preparing to check all the rooms. He needed to talk to her.

He was the Wolverine. Big, bad, and impenetrable to silly emotional things like love.

His pace slowed. He didn't mean it like that. He didn't love her that way. He loved her, sure. He cared about her, like the rest of the students.

Bullshit. He cared more than that.

He didn't know whether it was right or not. Morals aside, he was a man who didn't age. He had no past. What he did remember of it, well—it didn't make him a standout of a man, either.

But he couldn't take advantage of some young woman, barely in her twenties, who's never experienced anything remotely resembling love.

Could he?

He was so damn confused. His body was telling him it was right, his mind telling him it wasn't. His body was in its early thirties; it didn't have a voice in the subject. His mind, however, contained more memories and years than perhaps the Professor's—did that mean he was supposed to be chasing around women with walkers?

The recreation room was full of kids, but not the person Logan needed to see. Damn it, where was she?

As he walked down the corridor, intent on checking the Danger Room, he heard the name of the person he wanted to see.

"... so this Rogue can control his powers?"

He stopped by the door to Professor Xavier's office, listening. The voice was vaguely familiar. Logan thought for a moment before realizing the voice belonged to Leech's mother.

"She seems to have some amateur control on the powers she absorbs, yes." Professor Xavier.

"So she can help Dorian control his own?"

"She may be able to help, yes. However, Dorian is still very young. It may take him years to learn to control his powers to the extent Rogue can."

"It doesn't make sense. Why would she be able to control powers that aren't her own?"

"Part of her control comes from absorbing the thoughts and memories of those she touches, as well. Their knowledge helps her understand the power, and then through them she can find control."

"But Dorian can't control his, so how did she learn?"

"I'm not sure. It's possible that mutant control may be very general. Rogue may have picked up similarities in the control of Dorian's power from someone else she absorbed, say Storm's. If control of his power is similar to how Storm controls hers, Rogue would then be able to control his through those memories."

"She's absorbed your powers, Storm?"

"Yes."

"How many people has she touched?"

Logan growled a bit at the hostility in the woman's voice. She didn't understand the situation.

"Rogue's power is extremely strong. In the past, we've had others try to use her for their own purposes."

"The Apocalypse guy, right? You said she woke him."

"By being hypnotized and used, yes."

"If this Rogue can control everyone else's powers, why can't she control her own? I mean, is she safe for students to be around?"

Logan snarled again. Just because this woman's son helped save the world didn't mean she had the right to question the X-Men, much less Rogue.

Logan opened the door, startling Storm and Leech's mother. Professor Xavier, however, seemed to have expected the surprise.

"Hello, Logan."

Logan did not respond to the Professor. "Lady, I don't think you have the right to lay suspicion on people who helped save you and your son's asses."

The lady gawked at Logan, but regained her look of indignation quickly. "I know she did what she had to do. But her not having control of her powers makes her a danger here for my son. I don't want him going to school somewhere where he won't be safe!"

"Her powers aren't like that; she'd never hurt anyone on purpose." Logan's voice was harsh, and many of his words were said through clenched teeth. "That boy would be safer here than any other public school you send him to."

Storm cut in, obviously trying to ease the tension. "He's right, Ms. Leech. Here, Dorian could be with other young students like himself. We keep very good care of the children here, and help them learn to control their powers."

"But what if a mutant who can't control their powers hurts Dorian? What if this Rogue person is used again and she sucks the life out of him? Don't you understand my concerns, here?"

"Ms. Leech, the students here are very conscious of their powers around each other. Many only use their powers in vicinity of a teacher when they're learning control. He'd be quite safe." Professor Xavier kept his voice calm, but gave Logan a warning look to back off. Logan rolled his eyes.

Ms. Leech, to her credit, sighed and sat down in a chair resignedly. "I understand you want to help him. He's just so fragile, and seeing him in a coma like that ... I fear what mutants as dangerous as Rogue could do to him if I'm not there to protect him."

Logan couldn't remember the last time he had growled so many times. "She's not dangerous—"

"Yes, Ah am."

Logan turned to see Marie standing in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her. In his anger he had not heard her approach.

Marie took a hesitant step forward into the room, looking at Ms. Leech. "You have every right to be afraid of me."

The woman did not look at Marie with disdain like Logan expected. While there wasn't a hint of guilt, either, Ms. Leech's face held an expression of acknowledgment, laced with a hint of pity. It was better than hate, he supposed.

When the woman didn't respond, Marie turned to look at the Professor. "Dorian was wondering if he could sleep somewhere besides the medbay."

Logan heard a deep resignation in Marie's voice, and he didn't like it. Part of him knew it was because of him, and because of what had happened earlier in the day. He needed to fix things.

"Certainly. Ms. Leech, if you'd like you and your son are welcome to stay in one of our guest rooms—at least until you had time to consider our proposition?"

Ms. Leech paused, but finally nodded in agreement.

Marie turned to leave, stopped, and turned around. "Oh, we discussed his power. Ah told him what Ah could about control, an' he hopes to practice once he's feeling better." Before the older woman could say something, Marie added, "Kitty would be the best person to help him with it—it's similar to how she turns on and off her power."

Ms. Leech remained quiet then, and with a nod from the Professor Marie made her way out of the room, never giving Logan a glance.

Throwing aside subtlety, Logan left the others and quickly followed her.

"Rogue!" he yelled out, catching up with her in the hallway. He wanted to call her Marie, but knew her name was private from the other students nearby. She stopped, but did not turn around. Her arms remained tightly crossed in front of her.

Realizing the middle of a busy hallway was not a good place for a heart to heart talk, he caught up to her and turned toward her so he could lower his voice. "Can we talk somewhere?"

Marie looked up at him, her eyes unreadable. "About what?"

Logan took a deep breath. "About today. The combat room."

"Don't worry 'bout it," she said, brushing passed him deftly and continuing her way down the hall.

Logan realized this would be a hell of a lot easier if he knew what he wanted to say. Again, he followed her.

"Look, I know I left in a rush—"

"Ah _said_, don't worry 'bout it," Marie hissed, making her way upstairs.

His temper getting the better of him, Logan snarled and got in front of her on the stairs, grabbing her shoulders to halt her advancement. "Will you just _wait_ a second?"

"Ah don't need reasons or excuses, Logan," Marie half-whispered, entirely unafraid of his aggressive behavior. "Ah don't want to hear them, and it doesn't matter, anyway."

"Look, I'm confused," Logan started. He grunted in surprise when Marie uncrossed her arms and shoved him before he could continue, causing him to land in a sitting position on the stairs. She quickly made her way around him.

"It doesn't matter, Logan! It'll be pointless in a couple days, anyway," she made her way to the top of the stairs and disappeared from sight.

Logan scrambled to follow again, but his pause in her statement made him too late. Marie's door slammed shut even before he made it to the top of the stairs.

Of course, a door wouldn't necessarily stop him, but he respected her privacy.

To a point.

He sighed, and instead of going anywhere, sat his sorry ass down on the top of the stairs. Perhaps now would be a good time to figure out what the hell he wanted to say, instead of stuttering like an idiot.

His hands came up to rake his hands through his hair, frustration evident in his demeanor.

He didn't care what other people thought. He knew what he felt, and he at least sensed that it was partially what Marie wanted.

He had let himself fall prey to his animal instincts today. The smell of her arousal, the look in her eyes, the feel of her skin with his own, and her subtle laugh at something he had said had torn down his carefully built walls.

Walls that he had built to protect her from him.

He had kissed her so gently, afraid to push her too far. He snorted—kissing her had gone too far, period.

But she had kissed back, and she had not been gentle. She wanted him, he could feel and smell and sense it, and it had drove him over the edge.

His arm had wrapped around her waist, hoisting her upper body up to him, closing the distance between them so they could feel each other's hearts thumping, their chests heaving in desire....

And then reality hit him. She was so young, and he was taking advantage of not only her, but of the situation.

He had pulled back, had stood up, and had grown cold at the look she gave him. Her eyes pleaded with him, and he had fucked up.

He had apologized to her, called her Rogue. He didn't want to call her Marie. He loved her name, loved to say it, and was the only who did, when they were alone. Since her first inner battle, when she had nearly died from the overload of memories and personalities, to after she had been used by Mesmero to awaken Apocalypse, he had been given full use of the name. Well, not full use, per say. She didn't like it—and berated him for it—but she had never been serious about it so it never stopped him.

But at the moment in the combat room, he had called her Rogue. He had needed to distance himself from her, and from the situation. He had been afraid, of all things.

Logan got up from his sitting position, glad that he wasn't interrupted by any of the students. He turned and walked to her door, placing his palm flat against it, gently.

His breath was a bit shaky at what he was about to say. Hell, it wasn't often he said much to begin with. Making sure no students were around, Logan cleared his throat. "Marie, I don't want to forget about what happened in the combat room today."

Silence answered him.

"I'm ... sorry I left the way I did. The situation—with your skin ... I felt like I was taking advantage."

A small thump was heard, but nothing else.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. His forehead came to rest on the cool oak, and he listened to the silence for a while. His hand left the door eventually and he stood up, wondering absently if sleeping at the foot of her door would weird out the students.

To his surprise and relief, however, the door slowly opened. She only opened it enough to allow the hallway light to dance across half her face. Her eyes were tired, face sullen.

"Go on a walk with me," Logan finally said. He had no idea where he had pulled that idea from, but he went with it anyway.

Marie seemed to come to the same conclusion, however, and her brow scrunched up in confusion. "A walk?"

Logan nodded, holding out his hand.

She looked down at his hand, contemplating, but finally pulled the rest of the door open, taking his hand in her own gloved one.


	7. By the Fruit Trees

Night had begun to settle in Westchester. The leaves in the trees rustled silently from a calm wind, and the purple hues of the evening began to transcend across the gardens Logan and Rogue walked across. It was brisk outside, a telling sign of fall making its way into the city, but Rogue enjoyed the feeling of the cool wind against her bare shoulders. Her long sleeved sweater she often wore allowed her to expose some of her neck and shoulders, and it had been one of the few ways she would try to let her body not feel so covered up from the world.

Her hands were still gloved too, and one rested snuggly in Logan's. Neither had said a word since making their way outside.

Rogue cringed a bit. That wasn't entirely true. On their way downstairs, they had run into Kitty and Kurt heading upstairs. The young duo had stopped them in their normal curious ways, asking what they were up to. Logan had grunted "Walk," and continued to lead Rogue down the stairs.

She had tried to pull her hand out of his grasp upon seeing her two old classmates head their way, but he had refused to let go.

So when Kitty noticed their hand holding after Logan's usual one-word reply, she had mumbled an okay of sorts, though it came out with quite a long "oh" sound.

After they had passed them, Rogue had heard hurried whispering as Kitty and Kurt disappeared in the upstairs hall. Gossip was going to be running amuck.

Rogue sighed, taking a glance at her walking companion. He had occasionally looked over at her; at least she thought he had through the corner of her eye. She wasn't sure what the purpose of this excursion was.

Suddenly, Logan lifted his hand—the one still holding hers—and used his other to remove her glove.

Before Rogue could protest, he had successfully stripped her hand, still keeping a warm grip on it with his. He took her glove and shoved it in his jeans pocket, all while keeping pace along the pathway they walked.

He didn't say anything.

Rogue had gasped slightly at the feel of his hand in her naked hand, and was pretty sure feeling skin-on-skin contact was something that'd never get old. She decided to remain quiet instead of protest, and tightened her grip on his hand. His thumb began making lazy circles on her skin, and she nearly lost her footing from becoming hypnotized by it.

She realized that soon their walk would lead them around the mansion back to where they had started, and decided maybe silence wasn't the best mode of action right now. She had some stuff on her mind to say, and taking a shaky breath, figured now was better than never.

"Logan."

She paused long enough to glance over and see if he was paying attention. His eyes were transfixed on her, and she almost lost her cool for a second. She quickly averted her eyes back to the ground and continued.

"Logan, Ah like you—Ah've grown some ... feelings for you. Ah have been for a while, Ah guess." Their walking had slowed by some fruit trees along the south side of the mansion. "And whether or not you feel the same—"

Logan stopping their walking completely, causing Rogue to pause in her heart-spilling. He turned to face her, their hands still intertwined.

Suddenly she forgot what she had been saying.

Rogue had never thought she'd be having this conversation, with Logan or with anyone. She had been determined for so long to remain her namesake, afraid of getting close to anyone. She didn't trust herself, and lately she had been having a hard time trusting anyone else, especially after Mystique's betrayal as her friend Risty.

She was so tired of being used. Mystique, Mesmero, Apocalypse, and recently Gambit—it was all wearing down on her. She had been starting to believe people only got close to her when her poisonous skin came in handy. It made her wish fervently for control, not only for touch, but for protection.

Her lack of control made her an involuntary volunteer for their stupid plans of world conquest or whatever the hell they wanted to do, and she hated it.

She hated herself more, though, for letting it happen.

She broke eye contact with him, instead looking off at the vast meadows to their right, beyond the mansion's property. "Ah know right now Ah can touch, but soon Ah won't. And Ah don't think Ah can take going back to...." her voice trailed off a bit, unsure of even voicing the idea of losing Logan as soon as she got him.

She felt his finger tug at her chin, forcing her to make eye contact with him.

"I'm not afraid of your skin, darlin'," he simply said.

Well, yeah, not right now, she thought. In about, oh, a day or so you might change your mind. She prepared to voice her sentiments, but the eye contact had made her a bit weak in the knees. His stare was direct, and dark—almost feral.

She wasn't sure what it meant, but when his head began to lower a bit toward hers, she got an idea.

A fleeting thought told her they were outside and could be caught, but she didn't precisely care at the moment. She thought about stopping his advancements, telling him to get it through his head about her rationalization on love, especially love that had a countdown to the resurrection of poisonous skin.

She thought better of it, however, as he closed the gap between them and kissed her. To hell with logistics—she'd happily go to the loony bin later for the chance at tasting Logan now.

This kiss was not at all hesitant like their first—this one was deep, sensual, and freaking amazing. Rogue lost all coherent thoughts and simply enjoyed the tantalizing taste of barbeque, cigar, and Logan, all rolled up and currently invading her mouth like it owned the place.

His arms pulled her body towards him to close the gap between them, and she couldn't even find the capacity to put her arms around his neck. Instead, she placed her hands on his biceps, enjoying the feeling of his bulging muscles beneath the soft fabric of his t-shirt. She arched back to allow him to bend slightly forward, seeing as though she didn't even top his shoulders in height. His arms steadied her, and she was glad; otherwise, she was pretty sure she'd fall stupidly flat on her back in a daze, and probably would remain there for most of the rest of the night.

Something began to tingle, and she wondered if her foot had fallen asleep.

And then suddenly Logan was inside her, everywhere.

She could see herself, in the medbay after going a bit crazy with all the personalities she had absorbed. She could see herself being held, comforted in the night by strong arms. She could see Apocalypse's old, crusty hand holding hers, stealing all the powers she had stolen—and could feel the fear rise up in her at the thought of him killing her.

She was in the medbay again, recovering. Feelings began to change—protection turned into arousal, arousal into shame, shame into protection again, and protection into ... love?

She saw herself when they got drunk to celebrate her twenty-first birthday. She was dancing around, looking clearly like an idiot, but all she could feel was affection. She saw herself reach over, grab a scarf, and kiss ... herself?

No, Logan! She had kissed Logan! She had thought she had dreamt that in a drunken stupor. Her mind raced as the memory of the kiss resurfaced the feelings of arousal and shame, and she tried to focus. Why was she seeing everything through the eyes of Logan? She felt so ... drained.

Oh god.

Her eyes shot open and she pushed Logan away, watching his large form crumple at her feet. No, no, no.

She wanted to release claws she didn't have, because they weren't a natural mutation. She wanted to stab herself, make this not real. A dream—a nightmare.

He was so still.

She screamed.


	8. Bloody Glass

Her mind was a blur as she felt strong hands grab her sweater clad arm. Random thoughts swam lazily through her head about World War II, bars, snow, Weapon X, X 23, and Sabretooth. Thinking of him released a fury she never knew she had, and she was pretty sure she growled.

Like a feral, wolfish I'm-going-to-eat-you growl.

Her head swam and she groaned, placing a hand on her forehead to stop the bright white lights from boring into her eyes. There was still a hand holding her arm, and now another at the small of her back, walking her somewhere.

She heard voices, and it took her quite a while to realize they weren't coming from inside her head. She tried to focus, see if she could catch what they were saying.

"Rogue? Can you hear me?" That one was close to her. It sounded like Scott.

"...he's barely breathing—I think we're going to need to intubate him, Professor."

Intubate? Oh god, Logan. What had she done?

"How long do you think they had touched?" Long. Too long.

She started losing focus again. She was suddenly in Canada, though how she knew that she wasn't sure. She was picking up firewood, intent to bring it back to a log cabin a couple yards away, hidden by the snowstorm. She was going to cook some rabbit for dinner.

And then she was looking up through water, feeling her legs and arms tied down. A breathing tube was inserted in her throat, making her want to gag but unable to. She choked anyway, the spasms involuntary in her throat. She tried to move, but couldn't.

And then searing, white-hot pain lacerated into her ear, and she screamed.

"Rogue!"

She screamed a bloodcurdling scream, the pain so real she reached up to her ear to yank it out, but couldn't find anything but hair and empty space. She collapsed on the ground, and the vision faded.

She was in the medbay, and Scott was staring down at her worriedly.

"What? Where am Ah?" she mumbled, looking around. She felt so heavy, like her entire body was belted down with ... metal.

She ignored it and got up before Scott could answer her. "Logan!"

Scott grabbed her shoulders, and she realized he had gloves on. "Rogue, it's okay, calm down. He's all right."

The simple statement managed to relax her somewhat. She looked around and noticed they were in one of the recovery rooms. The door hissed and Rogue looked up to see Storm approaching.

"Where is he? Can Ah see him?" she finally said, looking at Scott, then Storm.

Storm nodded to Scott, who released Rogue's shoulders and took a step back.

"Rogue, he's resting right now. We're a bit worried about you, though." Rogue realized Storm was holding a gown.

"What? Me? Why?" she squeaked. That metal feeling was getting weird. She wondered if Logan always felt so heavy all the time.

A stray lock of hair was tickling her face, and she went to reach up and brush it away.

She couldn't.

She looked down and horrifyingly realized that she wasn't feeling Logan's awareness of his adamantium skeleton. Instead, heavy cuffs linked her wrists together and a long chain dangled to the floor, connecting them with her ankles, also cuffed.

"What are you doing?!" she yelled, trying to pull free. Scott again advanced to her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"It's okay! We're trying to protect you from yourself."

"What?!" Rogue back away from him and nearly tripped when she couldn't bring her foot back the entire step. Scott steadied her before she completely lost balance.

"Rogue—when you absorbed Logan you took a huge portion of his memories. You've been in and out of it, and when you're out, some of those memories are causing rage." Storm's voice was soothing as she advanced towards Rogue, placing the gown on the hospital bed and taking Scott's place directly in front of her. "When we were leading you down here, you started screaming and thrashing, lost in one his memories, and ended up breaking a window."

Her eyes looked down, and Rogue followed her gaze to her clothes. She was covered in streaks of blood.

"You healed thanks to Logan's powers, but we were afraid you might lapse into another memory and hurt yourself or someone else. That's why you are chained."

Rogue had been breathing heavily from adrenaline, but Storm's calm voice explaining what had happened helped her gain some composure. Her feet felt a bit shaky, though, and she turned to sit on the bed.

She hadn't lost control of herself like this since her powers had first manifested. She had gotten so used to them being suppressed by Leech's powers that she had let her guard down.

And now Logan was paying the ultimate price for it.

"It was an accident," she whispered. She wasn't sure if she was saying it to them or herself.

"We know, dear." Storm looked to Scott again, and he nodded in quiet understanding as he left the room. Storm looked back to Rogue and used a gloved hand to brush the hair out of Rogue's eyes. "Let's get you changed out of those bloody clothes, all right?"

Rogue only nodded, her eyes transfixed on the floor.


	9. Telepathic Discovery

Logan couldn't remember the last time he felt so tired. His mutation usually didn't affect his biorhythms too much, except for maybe letting him wake up feeling refreshed, no matter the amount of sleep he had. Right now, though, he felt like he hadn't slept in days.

He groaned a bit, his muscles aching. Having a mutation that kept you healthy all the time made it a pain in the ass to feel any different. Feeling the stiff sheets and pillow beneath him made him realize he wasn't in his bed, however, and forced him to open his heavy eyes.

Why the hell was he in the medbay?

A hand came to Logan's head to steady the headache that was itching to make residence there. Sitting up in the dark room, he listened to a steady beep and pinpointed its location to the monitor on his right. He watched it for a second before realizing it was matching his heartbeat.

He looked down and saw the electrodes attached to his chest. He growled in annoyance and ripped them off.

The movement caused a twinge in his left arm, and he inspected it to find an IV inserted, its tube connected to a clear bag dripping fluid into his blood.

He sighed this time as he ripped the long tube out of his arm. When would Xavier learn that he didn't need this stuff?

_Actually, Logan, you _were_ in need of it._

The Professor's voice reverberated, startling Logan enough to jump out of his bed and release his claws. It took him a moment to realize the voice had been inside his head.

His claws returned beneath his skin and Logan shrugged off the adrenaline that was now coursing through his body. He felt a drip on his arm and looked down.

A trickle of blood made its way down his skin, from where he had pulled out the IV.

Frantic, he felt along his arm, searching for the wound. It wasn't there. He wiped away the blood, and found only healthy skin beneath it.

_You're body is weak, Logan. Your healing is still there, but it is taking longer than usual._

"What happened?" Logan asked the empty room, feeling like an idiot. He hated it when the Professor mind-talked.

_I apologize. We were not expecting you awake this soon, and I had a matter to attend to._

He also hated it when the Professor read his mind. He gave a bit of a smirk to the darkness around him, sitting back on the bed when he felt a bit shaky at the knees.

He _never_ felt shaky at the knees. "What the hell happened?" he repeated.

_I'm not sure why, but your body has put a block to your memories. It may be a defensive mechanism. If __you'd like, I can tell you what happened; or I can release the block and let your memories do the talking._

"Fine, whatever," Logan snarled. "Just do it already." While he didn't voice what he wanted, he figured the telepath could figure it out for himself.

_Very well. Prepare yourself._

Logan felt the urge to roll his eyes at the request, but refrained from doing so. He was about to ask the Professor when this surge of memories was supposed to happen when, in an explosion of thoughts, it did.

"_Ah don't think I can take going back to_...." Marie's voice echoed in his head. He saw everything, then: him kissing her, the feel of her skin tingling and becoming stronger, unable to pull away. She had lost her ability to touch again, and in the worst way.

"Where is she?!" Logan yelled to the room, getting up despite his shakiness and making his way to the nearest elevator that lead up to the main floors.

"Logan," the Professor said.

His senses picked up more than just a voice in his head and Logan whirled around to see the Professor making his way down the hall.

"Where is she?" Logan repeated, his voice tight and his teeth clenched. He needed to know she was okay. He needed to let her know that _he _was okay, and that he wasn't afraid.

"Logan, when we found you you had been unable to breathe on your own. We had to intubate you. I suggest you calm down before you collapse again." The Professor's voice remained level, but was urgent. Logan's senses told him he was genuinely concerned.

So, to appease the Professor somewhat, Logan slowed his breathing and released some of the tension that was holding his back rigid and his hands in tight fists. However, he continued to push the elevator button compulsively.

"Rogue had some trouble adjusting to your memories. But she luckily had your healing powers to keep from hurting herself."

"You're not answering my question," Logan grunted out. Why the hell was the elevator taking so long?

"Logan, I understand your concerns. I know what happened." The Professor had brought his wheelchair up next to Logan, but did not stop him from trying to press the call button.

"She's going to blame herself," Logan said. His voice had lost the edge to it, and instead came out almost dejectedly. A thought tugged at him that the Professor had just hinted to his knowledge of Logan's more-than-friendly actions with Marie, but Logan ignored it. He'd worry about what other people thought about the situation later, if at all.

"I know," the Professor answered Logan's earlier statement.

The edge in the Professor's voice, however, caught Logan's senses enough to stop what he was doing and turn to face the older man. He couldn't bring himself to voice what he already knew, written clearly on the Professor's face.

"I'm sorry, Logan. She's gone."

* * *

There was something to be said about motorcycles and freedom.

Even through her tears Rogue couldn't help but let a smile form on her lips. The cool breeze of the autumn night filtered through the old helmet, filling her senses with asphalt, nature and exhaust all rolled into this unique, overpowering smell.

God, Logan could really _experience_ the world.

His name brought back the memories of seeing him with a ventilating machine, and the smile left her face quickly. She shouldn't be experiencing these strong sensations; they were his, and she had stolen them.

And he had nearly died because of her.

Determination once again took priority, and Rogue accelerated on the motorcycle she had stolen from the garage, barreling down the interstate.

She had a ways to go, yet.

* * *

Logan paced in the sterile, metal hallway, walking from one wall to the other, ignoring the concerned look Jean and Storm were giving him. Scott seemed to be glaring at him, but the visor made it hard to determine.

"Would you quit it already, Logan? You're going to wear a hole in the ground."

Definitely annoyed. Logan didn't care, however, and shot the younger man a glare that caused him to glance away, quickly.

Jean came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "We know you're worried, Logan, but I'm sure she's fine."

He lessened his glare at her; after all, she had said it nicely. But even that look, too, made Jean take a step back as quickly as she came forward. So Logan started pacing again.

The sound of the doors to Cerebro opening, however, made Logan stop, turn, and wait impatiently as Professor Xavier rolled out of the room.

"Well?" he said.

The Professor looked thoughtfully at Logan. "She was hard to find. She has much of your psyche at the forefront right now." Logan opened his mouth to further the conversation to the point, but the Professor beat him to it. "I can't pinpoint where she is exactly, but she's heading south."

"To go back home, perhaps?" Storm offered.

At the Professor's answer, Logan had bent his head down in concentration. "She's got a bike, has been gone for at least six and a half hours...." Logan growled and looked to the Professor. "She can be taking a lot of routes heading south. You can't pinpoint which one she's on?"

The Professor shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. Every time I try, I lose the connection because of you being inside her head."

"Why don't you try to pinpoint Logan, then?" Scott asked, standing up from the wall he'd been leaning against.

"I tried that, too," the Professor relented. "It leads me here, to the real Logan." His attention turned toward Logan, who was about ready to make some new vents in the walls. "She's got enough of you inside her head that she's masked herself from Cerebro. We might have to wait a couple hours for the effects of you to wear off."

With a loud _snikt_ Logan's blades came forward from their home between his knuckles, his hands clenched and ready for them. "A couple _hours_? She could be a couple states away by then!"

"Yes, but we'll be able to catch up to her quickly in the Blackbird," the Professor retorted calmly, eyeing Logan with an equally calm stare.

Logan knew the Professor meant well. He did. But that didn't stop him from pointedly grumbling, "We wouldn't have to catch up at all if you'd kept an eye on her."

This time Storm took a step forward. "Logan, she had assured us she was fine and wanted to sleep in her own room. You know as well as I do that Rogue can hide her emotions well." She crossed her arms, giving him a rather stubborn look. "We already had to chain her once—I don't think she would've been keen on us doing that again."

Logan scowled at the last remark. The Professor had told him what had happened to Rogue while he'd been unconscious. While a bit unnerved at the thought of Rogue being chained like some dangerous prisoner, Logan understood that they had done it to protect her more than anything.

And seeing the broken window upstairs with her blood on it quelled his anger, as well.

But it didn't change the fact that they let her hide in her room for the rest of the evening. It'd been a couple of hours before Kurt had come to check on her, only to find the room empty and clothes missing.

They should've known better than that, especially with _him_ of all people floating around inside her head.

"I thought she had days before her skin turned back on," Logan finally said, glaring at the Professor.

"Hank and I estimated that the amount of Leech's power she absorbed would take days to wear off, as it did when she had touched Mystique." The Professor frowned, his hands forming a triangle and resting against his lips in thought. "It's possible that it wasn't entirely Leech's power that had part in the loss of her power."

"You mean she may have been controlling her skin on her own?" Jean asked, taking a step forward to the Professor.

"If she had, it was triggered by touching Leech, or by using his power," Scott added.

"Logan, did she say anything about how she felt before she touched you?" Storm looked to Logan, and Logan was a bit frozen at her words. She had said she touched him, not the other way around. Apparently the Professor was the only one who knew what really happened.

"She didn't touch me," was all Logan grunted.

There was a long pause, but he didn't say anything to the group of people now staring at him. Instead, he stalked to the elevators, sheathing his claws only because he realized pushing an elevator button was a bit hard to do with metal extensions sticking out between your knuckles.

The elevator hummed to life as the doors hissed open, and Logan marched inside, slamming the button that would take the elevator to the main floor.

He saw Jean run up but stop just outside the elevator. She looked at him concernedly.

"Are you okay?" she finally voiced. He didn't answer her. Her brow twitched in curiosity and furrowed after a moment, her eyes focusing on him differently than before. Logan quirked his own eyebrow at her but scowled when his senses picked up her mental invasion.

He growled at her intrusion and she startled in surprise. As the doors slid shut, her eyes locked on his in confusion and wonder.

He could tell that, whilst searching his mind to make sure he was okay, she had accidentally stumbled upon the emotion that was raging through him stronger than anything he had felt in a long, long time.

Love.


	10. Her Destiny

Rogue pulled the bike up to the curb, cutting the engine. Her legs still hummed with the tingling of the motor from the long ride, and as she demounted she shook them a little to rid the feeling.

Her thoughts wandered to Logan, and she hoped he had awoken from his semi-coma.

Rogue sighed a bit, placing the helmet in the built-in storage underneath the seat of the motorcycle. She ruffled her short hair, hoping to rid it of the helmet-head she was sure she had. After all, she had essentially been riding for eighteen hours straight, minus the gas fills and rest stops. She was tired, but determined.

The house in front of her was small and quaint, with a long row of small and quaint houses on either side of it. The late afternoon still had quite a bit of sunlight, but the neighborhood was quiet; most people were probably already home and preparing for dinner.

The South wasn't really known for its suburban communities as much as it was for its marshes and having your closest neighbor a mile away; however, Meridian, Mississippi had a bit more city-like quality to it, and provided the anonymity Destiny and Mystique had wanted for Rogue.

Most people would find their childhood home to be full of fond memories. Rogue, however, was completely numb to its sight and meaning.

Placing the keys in her jacket pocket, Rogue took a deep breath and walked up the long walkway leading to the front door of the house.

She could see soft light illuminating behind the closed curtains of one of the front windows. Reaching her destination, her hand went up to knock.

It stopped short of contact with the wood, and stayed there a moment before Rogue brought it back down to rest at her side. Her hand clenched and unclenched in frustration.

She could do this. She had to do this.

For Logan.

No. Not for Logan. Logan didn't want this of her. He said he didn't care about her skin. Rogue cringed. He probably cared now.

They would most likely come looking for her, soon.

When Storm had helped her change out of her bloody clothes, Rogue had persuaded her to let her see Logan. Still in chains, Rogue had walked down the long hallway to where Logan had been placed.

The slow, rhythmic beat of the machines, followed by the whooshing sound of the life-support device breathing for Logan, had made Rogue want to die.

He was hanging on by a thread, and she stood before him without a scratch on her body.

Scott and Storm both stood behind her at that point, and she had turned and asked them if she could recover in her room.

They had been wary of the idea, but she had assured them she wouldn't need the chains any longer—she was in full control now, but needed time to recuperate in peace.

They had, of course, trusted her.

She had briefly slept once she was in her room and finally alone. It hadn't lasted long, however, and the dream she had had plagued her thoughts, questioning her memories. It wasn't long after that she had come to the conclusion that she needed to resolve her problem, once and for all.

Rogue's hand came back up and, this time, managed to make solid contact with the wood.

She had barely been able to place a second knock on the door before it opened, revealing an older woman with dark glasses standing before her.

"Rogue," she stated warmly, a smile creasing her lips.

Rogue shook off the anger that came rising to her throat. "Expecting meh, Destiny?"

Destiny's smile rolled smoothly into a smirk, and she stepped aside, opening the door wider. "I'm always expecting something, child. Please, do come in."

* * *

Rogue's fingers ran across the mantel of the fireplace, glancing at the few photos that rested on top of it. All of them contained her: one from when she was about four, eating a pizza; another, of her in her little league uniform, bat swinging in a dramatic pose; and one with her, high school age and covered up, Destiny in the picture behind her.

The last picture had been impromptu—Destiny had been trying to console Rogue about school and Rogue's fears with returning, despite it being what Rogue had begged her for. She had been isolated for so long she hadn't been sure she could return to the normal social routine of high school.

They had been on a walk together when the conversation had started, and had sat down on a bench to finish it. Destiny had grabbed Rogue's gloved hands, holding them in her own, next to Rogue's face.

"_Look at your hands, Anna. Just because you have to cover them up doesn't make them any less hands. They write, hold books, and open doors just as they always have. And you, my dear Anna, you have not changed either. You still can smile, and laugh, and be the Anna I know so well. And the Anna I know wouldn't back out of something she had worked so hard for in the first place."_

A snap had startled them both, and looking up Rogue had realized an amateur photographer had walked by and noticed them. He had apologized profusely, and had given them a business card to have them contact him to get a free copy.

A couple weeks later Rogue had come home from school and found the picture on the mantel.

"That picture is so beautifully real, Rogue."

Destiny's voice in the present startled Rogue, and she jumped a little, her fingers falling from the mantel they still rested on. She turned to face the blind woman.

"Too bad it was all a lie." Rogue kept her voice void of emotion, and hid the trembling in her body by crossing her arms tightly in front of her. She wondered how blind Destiny really was, sometimes; her mutation let her see the future, and as a consequence she was unable to see the present.

But her home was always in immaculate order and pictures were hung everywhere.

She supposed that Mystique probably had a large role in that, though.

Destiny didn't reply to Rogue's quip, instead using her cane to find the sofa and sit down. While her dark glasses hid her unseeing eyes, Rogue could sense the sadness in the older woman.

No. She smelled it.

Rogue realized Logan's mutation was still strong within her, and she was glad. She would probably need it.

Rogue let the silence reign for a bit, taking in all the details of the home that had once been hers. Finally looking back at Destiny, she cleared her throat.

"Ah'm guessing you know why Ah'm here."

Destiny nodded. "Yes."

Rogue took a step forward. "Will ya tell me?"

Destiny's face looked up towards Rogue, or at least in her direction. "Why do you believe it'll help you?"

Rogue sighed, and made the rest of the trip to the sofa to sit down next to Destiny. She uncrossed her arms, resting her hands in her lap. She nervously fidgeted with the threads on her gloves, her eyes fixated on the ground in front of her. "Ah was hoping ... you could tell me."

Destiny smiled again, shaking her head. "My dear, I see the future, not the journey that leads to it." Her hand reached out and came to rest on top of Rogue's. "Tell me why."

"... Ah had a dream," Rogue finally murmured.

"About her?"

"No. About meh." Rogue looked at Destiny, who seemed to be looking right at her. She always loved how Destiny could do that, despite her blindness.

"It was when Ah lost control of all the powers Ah had stolen. She had confronted me, told me to search mah memories." Destiny's hand squeezed Rogue's hands reassuringly. "She was trying to convince me she was mah mom, but in the dream Ah saw me shape-shifting. Ah think Ah was seeing me through ... the X-Men's eyes." She avoided saying Logan, as she didn't really want to talk about the last twenty-four hours with Destiny.

"In the dream Ah knew Ah couldn't control meh changing shape. Ah could control everyone else's powers, through their memories, but Ah could never really control hers. Anytime Ah'd think of someone, or use their powers, Ah'd become them.

"When Ah woke up, Ah tried to remember her thoughts—but Professor Xavier had rid most of them for meh. What Ah could remember, though, was that her thoughts were always so ... messy. Like Ah only got tidbits of what she was thinking." Rogue had been looking at the ground as she spoke. Now, she looked at Destiny. "Almost like she was able to keep some of her thoughts hidden from meh."

Destiny gave no visible reaction to what Rogue had said. She seemed to be looking at Rogue, but she remained silent.

"Dezzy," Rogue said quietly. The nickname seemed to cause Destiny to flinch a bit, and this time she looked away before speaking.

"When Mystique was young, she had been used by other mutants—especially telepaths. They would enter her mind and change her shape, using her for their own selfish needs." Destiny's hand left Rogue's, using it instead to remove her glasses and rub her eyes tiredly before placing them back on. "She knew she couldn't stop a telepath from entering her mind, so she did the next best thing: she hid how she controlled her mutation into the deepest recesses of her mind."

Rogue, who had been listening intently, leaned forward. "But how?"

"She found a telepath and made a deal with them to help her move those specific memories out of reach. It took months of countless sessions, but they managed to hide the memories so deep that telepaths entering her mind would not be able to access them—they might have been able to control her body, but only in her natural form."

"Even Professor Xavier?"

Destiny let out a breathy laugh. "Xavier might be an exception, my dear. But it would take time even for him to expose those memories of control."

Rogue looked down again, thinking. "So when Ah absorbed her, the memories Ah got came out all jumbled 'cause of the telepath?"

"Yes and no. The telepath also taught Mystique defensive tactics to fight off other telepaths trying to invade her mind. In a way, your mutation is like a telepath's—you steal others' memories."

"So her defenses came up and gave me garbled information."

"Yes."

Rogue sighed. It may have come out garbled, but she had taken enough of Mystique's memories to figure out a chunk of her past. Perhaps....

"Where is she now?"

Destiny's hand reached out again, this time coming to rest on Rogue's jacket-clad shoulder. "You've grown so much," she finally said, ignoring the question.

"Dezzy, please."

"She won't tell you," Destiny rebuffed. It held sadness in its tone. "She can't tell you, because she doesn't really know anymore."

Tears threatened to fall from Rogue's eyes, but she blinked them back. "Ah know," her voice cracked at the end, but she kept her tone purposeful.

Destiny squeezed Rogue's shoulder, releasing a shaky breath from her pursed lips. "I never wanted this for you. I never wanted to hurt you, Rogue," Destiny pleaded.

Anger began to rise up in Rogue, memories of the past haunting her. "Heh, well, you sure failed that miserably," Rogue snapped back, her voice thick with emotion. She shrugged Destiny's hand off her shoulder.

"I had wanted a child so desperately, to raise as my own. My blindness, however, made me unqualified to adopt. Mystique, she gave me that chance when no one else would." Destiny's voice had grown tight, and Rogue noticed a couple tears had fallen from beneath the older woman's dark glasses.

She ignored them, as well as the stray tears that had finally fallen from her own eyes. "Was it also your wish to make meh sick, too? To hide meh away from the world, making meh think Ah was dying?" Rogue was surprised at the venom in her voice; she had buried so many emotions for so long—perhaps they were beginning to eat away at her.

"I had no choice! Mystique, when she learned of your powers and potential, she threatened to take you away if I didn't do as she told. I—I couldn't bear the thought of losing you." Destiny shook her head, her head bowed toward the ground. "I know I made mistakes, my child. But _she_ gave me _you_."

Rogue remained quiet. She had known Mystique put her care into Destiny's hands—she was glad for it. Mystique wasn't exactly the mothering type. She hadn't wanted Rogue as a daughter: she had wanted Rogue as a machine.

Even though Mystique had faced her own enemies trying to use her for their own agendas, she had adopted Rogue with the intent of using her the same way.

This time Rogue reached out, grasping Destiny's hands with her own gloved ones. "Dezzy, Ah have to know. Ah can't live like this anymore."

"You've hurt someone you love," Destiny whispered, still facing away from Rogue.

"What?"

"I know why you're here, my Anna. Are you sure you're doing this for yourself, and not for him?"

The use of her real name caused a twinge of regret in Rogue, but Destiny's words did not sit well with her. Thoughts of Leech, of the people she dropped in New Orleans; of Logan, with a machine breathing for him; every one of the faces of the people she had touched; their fear, their pain, their memories and their powers bombarded Rogue's mind.

No, she was not doing this just for Logan.

"You should know who Ah'm doing this for," Rogue softly responded, keeping her emotions in check.

"I want to know that _you_ know who you're doing this for, my child."

Rogue knew. She didn't know whether this would work, but she knew she had to try. She squeezed Destiny's hands.

"Dezzy."

Destiny nodded slightly, as if agreeing to Rogue's thoughts.

Rogue leaned forward, looking up to Destiny, whose face remained fixated toward the ground.

"Dezzy, where is she? Where's Mystique?"


	11. Southern Roots

Damn seatbelt.

Logan restlessly tried to pull the seatbelt away from his body, but its automatic locking system held it firmly in place, digging into his collarbone. He thought about slicing it, but a quick lurch of the jet made him think better of it.

He knew it wasn't the seatbelt that was keeping him worked up. But to hell if he wouldn't blame it anyway.

It had taken way too damn long for the Professor to get a hold on Marie's mind. Every hour he'd return to Cerebro and try—and each time he would have a slightly better calculation of where she was.

But it wasn't enough to fly after her. Xavier had first picked her up somewhere in Virginia.

Literally, somewhere in the fucking state of Virginia, almost ten hours since she'd disappeared.

That was helpful.

He kept trying, though, and each hour would show a bit more promise. At fifteen hours missing he'd pinpointed her location to a city: Birmingham, Alabama.

It definitely seemed as though she might be heading home, and Logan was pretty sure his lack of restraint was what pushed them to just fly to Meridian as a precaution. After all, the Professor could redirect them if need be.

So, almost nineteen hours since she'd been missing—or, at least since the idiots realized she'd been missing—the jet made a stealth landing in a rather large wheat field.

They had Marie's old address from when they first had been assigned to pick her up, years ago. Logan had never quite been able to shake the first reaction she had from seeing him: pure, unadulterated terror.

Granted, he learned later it was thanks to Mystique playing dress-up, in an attempt to make Marie suspicious of the X-men.

But the fear in her eyes seemed to be imprinted in his mind: a reminder of the killing machine he had been made to be.

As the jet engines slowly whirled to a stop, Logan had undone the seatbelt and was down the ramp before the rest of the team could collectively blink.

The strong smell of wheat filled Logan's nostrils, and he angrily forced his senses to ignore it. The sun had already begun to set, but its rays still penetrated the flatlands, glistening off the tall buildings that could be seen some distance away—the South's idea of a downtown metropolis.

As he heard the rest of the team—Scott, Jean, Storm, Kitty and Kurt—scramble to follow him, Logan took a look in the opposite direction of the skyline.

While many of the houses had become shrouded in the impending darkness, small lights filtering through windows made them stand out amongst the fields.

He heard Scott's voice from behind him: "Her old house is on 7349 Hillside Drive."

Logan was gone before the last word had left Scott's mouth.

* * *

He didn't need the numbers to find Marie's old residence. Once in the neighborhood, his nose guided him to a cookie cutter house about a mile away from where they had parked the jet. Her scent wafted along the walkway, along with the strong smell of motor oil from the bike she had borrowed.

But the motorcycle was nowhere in sight.

Logan purposely marched up the walkway and banged on the old oak door. He didn't have to wait long before it was opened.

"Hello Logan."

The older woman with dark glasses looked right at him—what was her name again? Oh yeah, the future teller. Destiny. How did she know him?

Oh, wait. Yeah. Stupid question.

"Where is she?" he finally growled out, taking in the scent that was so very Marie coming from within the home. It was still strong, thankfully, and probably meant that they just missed her.

The rest of the team had finally caught up with Logan, but remained a couple feet back from the front door.

Destiny seemed to ignore the rest of the X-Men. "She's not herself," she warned.

He gave another low, almost imperceptible growl. "Where _is_ she?"

The older woman's eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if she was remorseful for saying what she said next: "She's heading to Okatibbee Lake, to a cabin—here." She held out a piece of paper, numbers scribbled on it. "It's about a half hour north of here."

Logan took the paper, glancing at the address on it. "What's there?"

Destiny sighed, bowing her head towards the ground. "Her mother."


	12. The Healing Factor

Rogue crouched behind a bush, staring at the log cabin on a small hill overlooking Okatibbee Lake. Night had descended in the area, masking it with the purple hues of twilight. Only the crescent moon provided visibility, leaving a glittery trail of its presence on the murky waters.

The isolation of the house left no street lamps nearby, essentially making Rogue invisible. While it may have been fall, the air was warm and humid: a definite telltale sign of the marshlands. Rogue silently shrugged off her thick biker's jacket, leaving herself only in a turtleneck tank top, jeans and opera-style gloves.

She had put her bike in neutral about a mile away from the house, pushing it behind a large oak tree a couple yards behind her. There wasn't much traffic in the area, and she didn't want to give Mystique any reason to look outside.

Leaving her jacket on the ground, she made her way toward the back of the house, keeping low to the ground.

A small light filtered from the window near the front, but blinds hid everything else from view.

Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Rogue made it to the back of the house and pressed herself against it. Sliding along the long wall, she stopped next to a darkened window and carefully peered in.

The room, which appeared to be a bedroom, was empty. The door leading to the hallway was closed, but light penetrated from beneath it, giving Rogue enough glow to see what was inside. The bedcovers were a mess, and a large duffel bag sat on the floor near the window. Everything else in the room seemed untouched.

Mystique hadn't been here very long, but that was not surprising. After all, Rogue had seen her a couple days ago when she and Kurt had rebuked her pathetic attempt of an apology. Destiny had said Mystique had stopped by not long after that fateful night to get the keys to the place.

The cabin had belonged to Destiny's father and was given to her when he died. Rogue briefly wondered why, as a child, she'd never been taken to it.

She remembered Destiny mentioning her father only once to her, before she had become "sick"—and the vehemence in the blind woman's voice had made Rogue too scared to ever ask about him again. There probably weren't too many fond memories for Destiny to share here, then.

Rogue continued past the window, keeping her body close to the wall. She turned the corner and checked the adjacent bathroom's window.

Also locked.

A loud creak made Rogue quickly hide behind the corner of the house she had just passed. The creak was followed by a couple bangs, and Rogue recognized the sound as a screen door opening and slamming shut.

Rogue closed her eyes and focused on Logan's heightened senses she still possessed. The only door to the cabin was in the front of the house, where a long porch provided campers the opportunity to sit and enjoy the beauty of the lake.

Now, however, slight slapping of bare feet and a couple flicks of a lighter told Rogue someone was outside smoking a cigarette.

Keeping Logan's heightened senses turned on, Rogue quickly traversed the side of the house as silently as possible. The window with light was near the front of the house, but on the side, out of view from the porch. Rogue peered through a crack in the blinds and saw a small living room and kitchen.

No one was inside.

This window was open, with a fan perched in front of it to draw cool air into the stuffy interior. The place most likely didn't have air conditioning.

In one swift motion, Rogue popped off the cheap screen of the window. The sound had been masked by the motor of the fan, as well as a small television that was currently airing the nightly news.

Rogue listened for sounds out front on the porch. She thought for a second that perhaps Mystique had already made her way back inside, but she finally heard the thin hiss of paper burning from Mystique taking another drag.

Rogue neatly climbed up onto the windowsill, pushing the blinds forward enough to allow her entry inside. She cringed a little as the plastic blinds rattled against each other.

Inside, Rogue ducked behind a couch facing the front door just as the screen door slammed open.

Rogue could smell the adrenaline off of Mystique and realized she too had heard the rattling of the blinds. Footsteps grew closer, and stopped nearby the window Rogue had just entered. The silence was thick, and Rogue didn't need Logan's senses to know Mystique was also listening intently to her surroundings.

The cabin was too small to try and move anywhere without Mystique hearing her. The element of surprise was already gone: Rogue just needed to get the jump on her.

The sound of a couple footsteps approaching the couch was all the hints Rogue needed. Bracing herself, she turned, grabbed the top of the couch and catapulted herself over.

Her feet connected squarely with Mystique's stomach, sending her backwards and knocking over the fan. The blue woman landed on her butt and slid, but she caught herself before hitting the wall. Using her momentum, Mystique quickly flipped and used her arms to deftly stand and face Rogue.

"Hey _mama_," Rogue sarcastically drawled.

Mystique looked at her with only a hint of surprise. "Rogue, what are you doing here?"

Rogue, who now stood in front of the couch, clicked her tongue. "Wouldn't want to tell you my plans for world domination and all, now would Ah?" Her demeanor gave off arrogance, but Rogue's senses were on high alert. She guardedly watched Mystique's small movements for any sign of attack.

Mystique cocked her head a bit, crossing her arms. "You're here by yourself, which means this has to do with _us_."

"Nothing like a li'l ol' reunion, right?" Rogue watched as Mystique took a small sidestep, toward the kitchen. There could be a lot of things she could use in a kitchen.

Rogue took a step in the same direction, closing the distance between Mystique and herself.

"Tell me what you want to know. I have nothing to hide," Mystique offered, her voice etched with phony affection.

Lies had an interesting way of increasing blood flow and sweat, which could be readily smelled on a person. Rogue reminded herself to never try and lie to Logan again.

"Even if you could, you wouldn't." Rogue's voice remained low, and she countered another one of Mystique's small sidesteps with her own. She really didn't want Mystique to make it to the kitchen, but she didn't want to initiate the imminent fight that was to ensue either.

That left one option.

"I don't understand," Mystique stated, but her eyes said she understood all too well.

Rogue smiled at Mystique, but inside she kept her guard. "You will, soon enough." Rogue made the motion of taking off one of her gloves, taking a brazen step forward while doing so.

Mystique took the bait and lunged at Rogue before she could remove the article. Rogue was fully prepared for the attack, however, and nimbly dodged out of the way. Mystique now behind her, Rogue used a roundabout kick to put the blue woman on the defensive. Logan's fighting skills were trying to rush to the forefront of Rogue's mind, but she pushed them away and focused on her own.

Most of Logan's fighting tactics included claws she didn't have, and she couldn't afford making a miscalculation with someone like Mystique.

Rogue ducked out of the way of a flying chair, wincing as a few thick splinters of wood ricocheted and hit her from the wall it exploded against. Mystique certainly didn't have any problems fighting dirty. The older woman had used the chair as a distraction to come up behind Rogue, but as she kicked out her foot Rogue managed to get to the side of it, spinning fast and delivering an uppercut to the underside of Mystique's chin.

The punch momentarily fazed Mystique, but she recovered quickly and moved in on Rogue, grabbing her by the waist and knocking Rogue off-balance.

In what seemed like an action that defied gravity, Mystique brought her leg up and kicked Rogue in the face while doing a forward flip. The move had been fast enough that Rogue's mutation didn't kick in, and for the first time she cursed its small delay. The blow caused Rogue's head to snap back painfully, and as Mystique made her acrobatic flip Rogue barely had time to dodge the second foot that was aiming for her head.

Logan's healing seemed to help her senses regain fast control, however, because Rogue managed to grab the second leg that careened past her. Using Mystique's appendage as leverage, Rogue kicked out her own leg and made solid contact with Mystique's torso.

The wind knocked out of her, Mystique's arms gave way from her mid-handstand and she tumbled to the floor. Rogue took the opportunity to try and take one of her gloves off.

A vase suddenly decided to make contact with Rogue's head, knocking her off her feet and causing her to collide into the small television behind her.

Rogue felt the electricity from the broken television before she registered the sound of the crash, and she felt her body jerk with the voltage streaming through her. It took her a couple seconds to gain control enough to roll off the live wire, and when she did she felt the blood from the gash on her face roll into her eyes.

The light in the cabin suddenly flickered, then died. The television must have blown a circuit. Rogue tried to let her eyes adjust to the moonlight, but she wasn't given a chance to.

A hand reached down to grab her hair roughly, but Rogue jumped up and quickly head butted Mystique backwards. Mystique cried out and let go as Rogue turned around to face her opponent.

Mystique was holding her nose with both hands, staring at Rogue disbelievingly. It took Rogue a second to realize Mystique wasn't staring at her, but at the already-healing cut on her face.

The look changed quickly, however, and even as Rogue advanced on Mystique she didn't realize the meaning of the glare before it was too late.

With a quick slip of the hand Mystique reached to the side of her thigh—where a sheath had apparently been hidden beneath her black skirt— and pulled out a small knife, flinging it.

Rogue had been too startled at the action to successfully avoid the sharp object, and she grunted as it firmly wedged itself into the top of her thigh. The lacerating pain shot up her leg like hot lava, and it was all Rogue could do to keep standing as Logan's healing factor started fighting the embedded object. Logan might've had the benefit to heal, but it sure as hell didn't feel very good doing it.

She reached down to pull the dagger out, but a strong hand came up and wrapped itself around Rogue's shirt-clad neck, the fingers digging into her thorax and cutting her airway off completely. She damned the inventors of turtleneck tank tops and tried to take one of her gloves off again.

Mystique quickly grabbed Rogue's right wrist with her other hand before she had had the chance to remove the thin fabric, and Rogue choked as she tried to breath but couldn't. Mystique was staring at her, a thin smile spreading across her ruby red lips even as blood began to drip from her broken nose.

"Cheaters never prosper, Rogue." Her voice was calm and indifferent, as if they had been having tea before Mystique had decided to strangle Rogue.

The pain in Rogue's leg began to throb to the beat of her adrenaline-induced heart, but the lack of oxygen was beginning to make her head swim and eyes water. All she could do was stare back at Mystique, the moonlight illuminating her face in streaks from the blinds on the window.

Logan's healing factor had triggered an entirely different kind of reaction from Mystique—she had seemed to change her prerogative as soon as she had found out Rogue could super heal. It was as if the knowledge of harming Rogue without killing her....

Wait. That was it. Killing her. Mystique didn't want to kill Rogue. Was that some inherent mothering attribute, or did Mystique have more plans up her alley for Rogue and her cursed powers?

Powers she wouldn't mind using right about now, Rogue thought absently. It was so hard to focus without oxygen.

Pain in the leg. Pain in her chest. One hand free, currently trying to pry Mystique's hand off her throat.

Could try to pull glove off with teeth. She'd probably stop her.

Pain in the leg. ...Wait.

Knife.

Even as blackness began to creep around the corners of Rogue's eyes, she used her free hand to grab the knife in her thigh. She pulled, and the pain was enough to send her over the edge to unconsciousness, but Rogue used what little power she had to jab the bloody knife at Mystique.

The hand on Rogue's throat instantly released, and Rogue fell to the ground in a heap, coughing up a storm. She looked up and saw Mystique on her knees a couple feet away, one hand clutched around the knife penetrating her side.

Her leg began to properly heal with the knife now gone, but Rogue realized it was slowing down. Blood still oozed out of the wound, albeit with a lot less vigor than before.

Taking in a couple more deep, straggled breaths, Rogue stood up, towering over Mystique's still crumpled form.

The blue woman looked up at her and watched as Rogue removed one of her gloves, finally succeeding in doing so.

"That's for making meh sick all those years." Rogue's voice came out haggard from her throat being closed off, but it was quickly fading. The opera glove she removed fell listlessly to the floor.

"Rogue, don't." Mystique's voice was small, and quiet. She could barely speak, but tried to anyway. "You know what too many people inside your head will do."

Rogue ignored her. "And this," Rogue brought her bare hand close to Mystique's face, "this is for all the times you've used meh. Now it's your turn." Her hand reached down and grasped Mystique's throat, but not tight enough to close her airway. Veins began to bulge on both Mystique and Rogue as the coupled drain and rush of feelings began.

Outside, the sounds of giant turbines rumbled.


	13. Defining Control

Logan only half-listened to the conversation during the short trip to Okatibbee Lake in the jet.

"Professor, were you able to get a read on her?" Scott asked into his headset. He and Storm were up front, piloting.

"Yes, she does seem to be at Okatibbee Lake. Mystique is there, as well." The Professor's voice was filled with static, as it came out through the jet's main speakers.

"Can you get a read on why she's after Mystique?" Kurt asked, who sat next to Logan. The young mutant had been tense throughout the entire trip, but seemed on the verge of panicking now.

He may have wanted nothing to do with his mother, but Logan could tell he didn't want her dead, either.

And he nor Logan wanted Marie dead. The thought made Logan's heart race and he shoved the ugly imagery away.

"It's still very hard to access her thoughts. What I can pick up is anger, and a lot of it. Did Destiny say why she was looking for her?"

Scott gave a sideways glance at Logan. Logan glared right back at him.

"No, we didn't get the chance to really question her."

"I see," was all the Professor said.

Logan turned his attention back to the window, already feeling the jet decrease in altitude as it neared the lake. He could think of a lot of reasons why Marie would want Mystique dead. He knew about why she was older than she let on to the others; he knew the shit they had put her through to make her see herself as poison to the world.

He wanted to kill Mystique for it, so he could only imagine what Marie wanted to do to her.

The question, however, was why now? What had his and Marie's interaction with each other done to make Marie think killing Mystique was the answer?

If that was indeed what she was trying to do.

If not, Logan surmised, it was possible that she wanted information. Perhaps she knew Mystique had answers that would help her control her mutation.

Even if Mystique did, she'd never tell her.

Which led Logan's thoughts back to the possibility of Marie dying.

Logan felt the jet jolt a little and realized they had landed. Outside his window it was pitch black except for the soft glow of the moon, somewhat masked by clouds.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and was the first to the door, lowering the ramp and running down it before it had fully descended. Kurt followed close behind him, the others still lagging.

Outside he could see that they had landed in a small clearing surrounded by trees. Letting his eyes adjust to the gloom of the night, Logan could see it was actually a park. A swing set and sandbox could be seen a couple yards to his left.

"Vhich vay?" he heard Kurt ask, waiting for Logan to make a move.

Logan used his nose do the guiding, taking a couple deep breaths of his surroundings in. He couldn't smell Marie yet, but he caught the scent of exhaust and motor oil that he knew all too well. He looked around for the nearest road and saw it, not far beyond the playground.

He took off, Kurt and the others not far behind him. He made it to the road, took another sniff, and headed north.

He ran about a block, hearing nothing but his footsteps and heavy breathing, with a course of footsteps and heavy breathing behind him. Just as he thought that his nose had failed him, and that he might of caught the scent of another motorcycle, he was blessed with the strong smell of Marie.

He stopped abruptly, taking in the scent deeply. He grunted when he felt Kurt run into him, not being able to stop his progression as quickly as Logan had. He could only hear his teammates gasping for breath, so instead tried to focus solely on his olfactory senses.

"Logan?" Jean finally asked. Her voice was low, as it was deathly quiet outside.

The trail went distinctly left, straight to a batch of trees off the road. Logan ran up to it, sniffing around as the scent got stronger. He quickly went around the tree and found Marie's motorcycle. It was cool to the touch, which meant the engine had been off for some time.

The trail went further up, but Logan only had time to look ahead and notice Marie's jacket on the ground before he heard the painful wail of a woman.

"There's a cabin up there!" Storm exclaimed, pointing up to a hill about thirty yards away.

Logan was already running in the direction of the sound before he had time to process the cabin, hidden by the shadows of trees surrounding it. There were no lights on in the house, but he was positive that was where the cry had come from.

As he neared the darkened lodge he located the front porch and bounded up the steps, slamming the screen door open without hesitation. He had recognized the voice of the cry.

Mystique.

It was darker inside the cabin, but his heightened senses allowed his eyes to adjust quickly and he saw the blue shapeshifter kneeling on the ground. His brow furrowed at the figure looming over her, her hand wrapped around Mystique's neck.

It was Mystique.

Logan heard Kurt and the others reach the porch, and a couple of flashlight beams made their way inside the house. The lights confirmed Logan's observation.

Mystique towered over Mystique, the latter kneeling and holding her side where blood freely flowed. On the floor next to her lay a bloody dagger.

The injured one cried out again, but this time much weaker. The Mystique standing over her had her free hand grasping her head, face contorted in pain.

And then suddenly it wasn't Mystique standing there; the blue skin turned into ivory, and the red hair grew white streaks.

Marie was now standing above Mystique, one hand touching Mystique, the other seizing her head.

"Where is it?!" Marie yelled, her voice raspy.

Logan had been frozen where he stood, but the sound of Marie's voice snapped him out of it. He ran towards the two women, coming up behind Marie and wrapping his arms around her clothed waist, pulling her away from Mystique.

Mystique instantly slumped to the ground, unconscious. Logan tried to hold onto Marie, but she shapeshifted into Mystique again, causing Logan to lose his grasp.

Marie-as-Mystique stepped away from him and fell to her knees, both her hands now clenching her head. He circled her so he could face her.

"Marie?" he said, forgetting that they had an audience.

"I can't find it! Everything's so jumbled!" she screamed in Mystique's voice, her eyes on the ground. She shifted again, this time into a little girl. Her hair grew longer and tumbled over her face, the white streaks glowing in the moonlight.

It was Marie as a child.

She screamed again, and the sound was more torturous than ever coming from a small child. Her hands clutched her head pitifully, and she shook it as if something had decided to take residence in there.

Logan reached out to touch Marie's shoulder, but she shifted again and became Destiny.

"It's in here! It has to be!" Marie-as-Destiny cried out, her face finally looking up at Logan.

Even through the dark glasses Logan saw the look of surprise on her face, and he watched with fascination as she slowly morphed into the Marie he knew and loved. Her eyes were wide, streaks of mascara running down them from both sweat and tears. She slowly removed her hands away from her head, leaving her hair a tangled mess.

She was beautiful.

"Logan?" she finally questioned, her voice breathy.

"I'm here, darlin," he reassured. Her eyes stayed on him for a moment longer, but trailed behind him to the rest of the X-Men standing behind him. She remained silent, looking at each of them until her eyes fell upon Jean.

"Help me find it!" she cried to Jean, her calm demeanor gone in a flash. "_Please!_"

Jean looked at the scene before her with nervous eyes. "Help you find what, Rogue?" Her voice trembled slightly.

_Jean, let me try and help her through you._

The Professor's voice seemed to boom in Logan's ears, and he watched as the rest of the X-Men reacted with the same surprise. The Professor was letting his voice be heard by everyone.

Jean hesitated only slightly before nodding and taking a step forward toward both Logan and Marie.

"Okay," she finally answered the Professor.

Marie seemed to be only looking at Jean, her breathing ragged. She didn't seem to have heard the Professor as Logan and the rest had, and had taken Jean's response as an answer to her own plea. He watched as Jean came forward next to them, kneeling down with Marie and bringing her hands up to either side of Marie's head.

"Don't touch me," Marie warned. Her body momentarily shifted into Mystique again, but she seemed to stop it and reverse it before it had time to take over her.

"I won't, Rogue. The Professor's going to try and help you." Jean closed her eyes, her hands still hovering inches away from Marie's head.

Marie watched her, silent.

And then she cried out, not shrill as before but low and deep—more painful than frustrating in sound. Her hands went up to her head again and she bent all the way forward, her head nearly coming to rest on the ground.

Logan growled. "What're you doin' to her?!" he reached out to grab one of Jean's outstretched hands.

"Stop!" Jean yelled at Logan through clenched teeth. "The Professor, he's ... he's trying to help her find Mystique's control!"

Logan stopped himself, but another moan from Marie was beginning to make his blood boil. "What the _hell_ is he doin' that's hurtin' her?!"

Jean didn't answer this time, her teeth grinding in what would look like a growl if it weren't for how tightly her eyes were clenched shut. Logan looked at her, then back to Marie, whose groans had become louder.

"Find it, please...." she murmured, her voice muffled with her head so close to the floor.

Then, in one swift motion, Jean and Marie both cried out: Jean fell backwards, catching herself with her hands, and Marie sat up into her prior kneeling position, hands going from her head to wrap in front of her chest, as if she was cold. To add to that assumption she shivered, but remained Marie.

Jean, breathing heavily, looked at Marie concernedly. "The Professor, he—"

"He found it," Marie interrupted, looking to the ground. She paused and took a look behind her at Mystique's still form. "She needs medical attention." Her voice was void of emotion.

Logan sniffed the air and looked down to Marie's thigh, seeing blood flowing out of a huge slash. "So do you," he said, coming towards her.

She flinched away from his touch. "Don't. Touch. Me," she said through gritted teeth.

Storm went around them to check on Mystique. "She's alive," she said, her fingers on the blue woman's throat. "Barely."

Marie flinched at the last remark and tried to stand. Her injured leg didn't seem to be responding well, however, and she stumbled a little before Logan quickly stood and caught her.

Marie tried to shove him away but was too weak. "She didn't want to kill me," she said, her voice cracking slightly.

"What?" Logan asked, confused. He shrugged off his jacket and placed it around Marie's bare shoulders since she was trembling pretty violently.

"She didn't want to kill me!" she yelled this time, the last two words barely formed as tears began to cascade down her cheeks. "She used meh, made meh a slave to Apocalypse, but never wanted meh to get hurt—and Ah killed her! Ah stabbed her, Ah took _everything _from her!" She was openly sobbing now, her hands scrunching Logan's shirt so tight her knuckles looked ready to pop out of their skin.

She was yelling at him, but her eyes were distant—she was looking right through him.

"Logan, she's in shock," Storm warned as Kurt and Scott lifted Mystique and began carrying her back to the Blackbird.

Marie didn't seem to hear. "Ah invaded her mind to get her _control_ ... the one thing she had hid from everyone, and Ah _stole _it from her!" Marie chocked on her sob, her fingers losing grip on Logan's shirt. Her shoulders slumped forward and Marie collapsed against Logan's chest, her head bent down in defeat.

Logan didn't know what else to do but pull his jacket tighter over her trembling form and pick her up.

Her sobs were wretched, unlike anything he'd ever heard from her. He'd seen her cry before, but never like this. Her crying consisted of tears running down her cheeks, with the occasional sniffle.

This ... this was something he didn't know if he could handle. She was shaking so bad he thought she might've been having a seizure.

Storm came up to him, hands covered in Mystique's blood. "Come on, we need to get Mystique to Hank." She looked down at Marie, who seemed to be in her own dark world. "She may need to be sedated, at least until we can get her to the Professor."

Logan growled. "The _Professor_ did this to her."

"Ah wanted control," Marie whispered, her eyes still tightly closed, her hands still barely holding onto Logan's shirt.

Storm and Logan locked eyes, but Logan sidestepped the weather witch and made his way back to the jet. He heard her trailing behind as he made his way outside, toward the road. Up ahead he could see Jean, telekinetically moving Marie's bike with her.

He glanced back down at the woman in his arms, who was still shivering despite his best efforts to hold her close to him.

"Her control isn't mine," Marie whispered, talking to herself.

And suddenly Logan understood.


	14. Inflexible Reality

She was ten again.

Rogue smiled. That was a good year. Little league, friends, no skin condition.

No vomiting three times a day like clockwork.

She had always had white streaks in her hair. Doctors had said that it was simply a fluke—some of her hair could not pick up pigmentation, or something like that.

She had never thought much of it. Kids thought it was cool when she was younger, and in high school they had thought it was a part of her goth look; a cry for attention.

How little they knew.

Suddenly, it changed. She was eleven, and Mystique was disguised as her doctor, telling her how sick she was. Rogue lunged for her, wanting her to pay for all she had done. She didn't care that the woman had wanted her to live, even when she'd thrown the knife at her. It didn't make up for the life she'd taken from her then.

It never would.

"Rogue!"

Interesting, that sounded like Storm. Her hands gripped at Mystique's shoulders, holding tight, but her brow furrowed. This seemed ... off, somehow.

She cringed when a throbbing in her left thigh made her lose balance; Mystique seemed to tower over her as she fell to the ground. Rogue grasped her thigh, hissing from the pain that emanated from it.

When she looked down at it, however, she could only see a child's thigh, clad in jeans and seemingly uninjured.

Then, like watching time in fast forward, the leg grew and changed into an adult's, the jeans on them now torn and darkly stained with blood.

Oh.

Everything came flowing back: the cabin, being stabbed, stabbing her own mother, trying to find the control Mystique had hidden from her all these years.

It was so much information she had to sift through. She had had to hold onto her for so long, using her focusing techniques Professor Xavier had taught her to try and only obtain what was needed.

But it was hard to avoid the memories of her, through Mystique's eyes.

The feelings she felt were so contradictory; the desire for power but the love for a child so unexpected that Rogue had lost complete control of what she was after.

It was like having hundreds of thousands of files thrown at you, each with their own little memory, and it was up to you to find the one that contained the answer to fix your life.

During her desperate searching she had failed to realize she was still absorbing Mystique; she had forgotten she was slowly killing someone.

The interior of the Blackbird began to come into focus. Rogue looked up and saw Storm, looking down at her worriedly. Hands were behind her, lifting her up.

She didn't need heightened senses to know it was Logan. He placed her back onto the thin bed, carved into the sidewall of the jet for both sleeping and medical use.

Rogue looked down at herself and saw her normal form. When the Professor had invaded her mind—trying to help her find what she was looking for—he had helped to push back a lot of the memories she had taken from Mystique.

It appeared he had pushed them into her subconscious, deep enough to be forgotten about on the conscious level, but not hidden enough to stop her dreams from tormenting her.

"You got control, darlin'?" she heard Logan ask. She watched as he leaned in close, staring at her for some kind of response.

Rogue looked down at her bare arms. Professor Xavier had found Mystique's deeply embedded information for Rogue; he had found the trigger that was the control for Mystique's skin, and her ability to shapeshift upon command.

It was so utterly simple, tightening certain muscles that activated the change, thinking of what you wanted to be and thinking of your skin as millions of glass prisms, slowly turning to reflect that perfect shade, that perfect texture.

But it had not turned her skin off.

She realized Logan had called her name again as she lost focus of the present, and Rogue shook her head, focusing on the control to tame Mystique's power.

"I think we may need to sedate her," Storm said, still standing behind Logan.

"No, Ah'm fine," Rogue rebuffed quickly. She didn't want to be put under—she had had too many times of waking up in the medbay, confused on how she'd ended up there. "Ah've got control now," she added, hoping to convince them.

Storm's eyes softened at seeing her respond. Logan seemed considerably more relaxed, as well, backing away slightly to give Rogue some breathing room.

"You have control Rogue, but your body is exhausted and you've lost a lot of blood. When you sleep, you change ... shape," Storm glanced away, seemingly afraid to offend Rogue. "I can't treat your leg when you hide it beneath another form."

"I don't see why I just don't give her some of my healing," Logan crossed his arms, glaring at Storm. Storm sighed at him. Apparently Rogue had missed an earlier argument regarding the matter.

"The Professor said he had only temporarily stored Mystique's thoughts and memories away. If we add you to the mix, there's a good chance the mental block won't hold until we return." Storm was looking at Logan while speaking, but was clearly explaining the situation to Rogue, as well.

She appreciated the information.

"Look, Ah saw the leg heal a bit, so it's not that bad. Ah'm fine now, so you can do what you need to." Rogue looked from Storm to Logan, and back again. Disbelief seemed to be the expression of the night.

"Marie, you weren't fine earlier," Logan finally offered.

Rogue eyed him with confusion, but memories surfaced of her breakdown. Swollen eyes and a tight chest also told her that her emotional collapse hadn't been all that long ago.

Rogue looked down quickly, shifting nervously on the narrow bed. "How is she?"

There was a long pause before Storm quietly contended, "She's stable. She's lost a lot of blood, and with the loss of energy her body is very weak." Rogue noticed Logan glance over to the other side of the jet, so she risked a look over Storm's shoulder.

On the opposite side of Rogue—where an identical indentation of the wall allowed another narrow bed—Mystique laid, various wires and tubes coming from beneath the blankets covering most of her body. She was strapped down, probably to avoid any mishaps with turbulence.

Kurt was sitting by her side.

Rogue quickly looked away, swallowing hard.

More silence. Then: "Rogue, can you tell us what—"

"She'll tell us when she's good and ready," Logan interrupted Storm. "Right now she needs her leg treated, unless you want me to do it." He stared at Storm pointedly, but kept his voice level.

Storm's eyes narrowed slightly at Logan's blunt method of changing the subject, but the look quickly faded. "Leave us, so I may tend to her."

Logan seemed to understand the meaning of Storm's words, but looked to Rogue for the final okay.

Rogue blushed a bit at the thought of Logan staying while Storm helped her change. She gave a curt nod to have him leave.

Logan gave her one last reassuring glimpse before walking towards the front of the plane. Storm pulled the built-in privacy curtain around the bed, creating a makeshift room out of the side of the jet.

Rogue rubbed the back of her neck nervously. "Heh, twice I gotta get help changin' in two days. Ah'm on a roll." She looked up at Storm, who seemed to have the same expression Destiny had had on her face when she realized what Rogue was planning to do to Mystique.

"Rogue...." Storm started, but let the sentence trail.

"Ah wasn't planning on killing her," Rogue murmured. She looked away from Storm's penetrating gaze.

Storm sighed. "When you're ready," was all she said. Apparently Logan had made a more compelling argument than Rogue had thought. The older woman grabbed a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt from a cabinet next to the bed, before pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

Rogue grimaced as Storm helped her pull her turtleneck tank top off. She reminded herself to burn that shirt and keep her neck exposed for the rest of her adult life.

A hiss escaped from Storm's mouth. "Rogue, your neck!"

Rogue flinched away from the feel of rubber on her tender neck. Storm was staring incredulously at it.

"She found out Ah had Logan's healing; Ah think she was trying to make me pass out." The explanation only seemed to make Storm's expression grow more troubled. She kept quiet, however, as she examined the damage Mystique had apparently left on Rogue's pale neck.

Another gasp left Storm's lips, and Rogue felt hands along her back. The touch was cool to her skin, as if she had a sunburn.

"Where are these burns from Rogue?"

"Uh, fell onto a TV. Doesn't hurt too much." As if to rebut Rogue's previous comment, Storm touched a more unhealed area of the electrical burns on Rogue's back, causing Rogue to recoil a little. She wondered why the burns hadn't fully healed as the gash on her face had.

"They seem to be mostly healed, but the skin is still slightly burnt." Storm's reached over to grab some gauze. "It'll need to be treated when we get back, but it's likely to leave some scars."

Rogue cringed. Great, another reason to have to cover up.

Storm finished bandaging Rogue's back and helped her into the large sweatshirt, followed by the removal of her jeans for some cotton shorts. As Storm began to clean the somewhat healed stab wound on Rogue's leg, she cleared her throat a little.

"Rogue, the control you were looking for—Mystique's control—you said it didn't work for your skin?"

Memories of finally having the control, of being able to control Mystique's mutation, flooded through Rogue. She had felt it as she tried to turn her skin off, but the residual hum from touching Mystique still tingled all over and did not go away.

"No," Rogue finally answered, reveling in the stinging pain of antiseptic Storm was using to clean her skin. Pain kept her senses on alert, and prevented her memories from taking over.

"You had held on to Mystique for quite some time, though." Storm finished cleaning the wound, stepping away to put the bottle of antiseptic away.

Rogue frowned at her. "Ah didn't mean to," she defended, though it came out pretty weak.

Storm shook her head as she grabbed more gauze. "But with Logan, you had only held on for a little while and he needed to be intubated." Storm unrolled the sterile white padding, placing it on Rogue's wound and wrapping it around her entire thigh. "Mystique didn't need incubation."

"What's yer point?"

Storm, finished with bandaging Rogue's leg, brought a hand to Rogue's shoulder. "Child, some level of control had to have been placed to keep you from absorbing all of Mystique's energy. If it did not come from Mystique, then it must have already been within you."

Rogue's breath caught and she could only watch as Storm put away the rest of the supplies and pulled the curtain back. How could she have had control all this time and not know it? Her eyes glanced down to her bare hands, studying them.

Leech's power had control similar to Kitty's. She had already tried using their form of control as her own, and had failed miserably. Logan's healing had no control—it just did what it did, whether or not it was wanted. And his heightened senses were somewhat controllable, but only to siphon them.

She had tried everyone's form of control, all of them. None had given her the ability she so desperately needed and desired.

She looked up at Storm with wide eyes, but could not find her voice to question Storm's statement. Storm gave a small smile to her before disappearing towards the front of the jet.

Rogue had barely enough time to swing her legs onto the bed and get into a lying position before Logan came up, grabbing the curtains and closing them so they had a little bit of privacy.

Rogue attempted to sit back up so she could talk to him, but he placed a hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down.

His own breath caught, however, and his gloved hand pushed her chin up, giving him a better look at her neck.

"It's not that bad," she said softly, barely audible over the constant hum of the jet barreling through the sky.

"She do this to you?" was all he asked, his voice sounding rough from anger but also more quiet than his usual speaking voice.

Rogue pulled her chin out of his hand, looking away. "Nothing compared to what Ah did to her," she muttered in response.

Logan brought his hand back, but only to grasp the railing by her head when turbulence caused the jet to dip quickly. His other hand went up to rake through his hair frustratingly, and without permission he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, pushing Rogue's legs to the side.

He nodded with his head toward her legs, only half covered by a blanket. Her injured thigh could still be seen, the thick white bandage making the wound look as though it was twice the size it really was. "How's your leg?"

Rogue shrugged. "Ah'll live."

"Why'd you go?" he blurted, his eyes boring into her and the small talk all forgotten about.

She kept his gaze for a moment, but adjusted her head on the pillows and decided to stare at the ceiling when she began to speak. "Ah remembered some of her memories after ... well, last night. They had always come out jumbled, like encrypted or something. Destiny told meh Mystique knew how to block her control from telepaths." She glanced at Logan and saw his brow furrow, lips parted and ready to prompt her for more information; she continued before he had the chance to. "Ah thought if Ah held on long enough, using those focusing techniques the Professor taught meh, Ah'd be able to learn her control, and ... and use them." She looked down to her hands, resting listlessly on her stomach. "Ah was wrong."

Logan's hand came out, his gloved one resting on top of both her bare ones. "She could've killed you."

Vague memories from Mystique swept through Rogue, but they were hard to concentrate on. Most of them had been pushed back by Professor Xavier, leaving her with only figments of feelings and thoughts. It was like hearing a television through a thick wall on a quiet night.

Rogue's forehead creased a little in concentration, her eyes staring solemnly at his hand, gloved and protected from the monster residing within her skin. "Ah ... Ah don't think she would have."

Logan growled. "Your neck looks like it was a squeeze away from bein' snapped in half; she stabbed a knife halfway into yer thigh, and you don't think she wanted to kill you?!" He kept his voice low, or at least tried to. Most of what he said, however, was spoken through clenched teeth. His hand had begun gripping hers a bit more tightly, as well.

"She found out about mah healing, so Ah think she knew she could push it." Rogue took one of her hands and placed it on top of Logan's, sandwiching his hand between her own. It seemed to help relax him, as he loosened his grip and took a deep sigh, his stare away from her.

He looked so tired.

Rogue hesitantly gave his hand a squeeze. "Ah'm sorry for hurting you."

That brought his stare back up to her real fast. He shook his head. "No." He pulled his hand away from hers, instead bringing it forward to brush her white strands away from her face. "I told you, I'm not afraid of your skin."

"You should be."

"I'm. Not." Logan's hand lingered a bit by Rogue's face, his gaze penetrating her. "_This _didn't happen because you suddenly had control."

Rogue's hand went up and grasped Logan's, holding it next to her face. She closed her eyes, imagining the feel of his bare skin mingled with hers.

Now, all she had was the feel of worn leather from his glove. The fear began to build up, starting slowly in the pit of her stomach and cascading into a frenzied panic that caused her to push his hand away from her.

This was the part she'd been so afraid of: the loss. She opened her eyes, looking at him and internally wincing at the affection written on his face. "Logan, Ah ... Ah can't. Not like this. How could we?" Her voice had lowered to a whisper.

There was a pause as the expression on his face saddened briefly, before hardening. He sighed, bringing his hand back to his side. He shook his head, looking away. "No, you're right. We can't." He looked down at her as he stood. "Not until you figure out what you want."

Then he tore the curtain open and disappeared towards the front of the jet.

Rogue had sat up when he stood, but had not been able to voice any words as he left. Tears began to well up as she looked down at her hands.

Her cursed, untouchable hands.

She knew what she wanted, and she had a feeling Logan did as well. She just wanted it in a way she couldn't have it: with control.

As she laid back down she turned to her side, facing herself towards the wall. The tears that had formed began to fall, leaving small dark droplets on the pillow.

This whole time she had been chasing the fantasy of gaining control and being with Logan. One came with the other; she had never considered it any other way. How could she have? She'd been unable to touch for so long, and even with things like translucent scarves there'd always be that danger; that risk.

Her fantasy had been set in stone inside her head.

Reality was now telling her she needed to be flexible.

Her throat tightened a bit from refusing to let a sob escape. She didn't know if she could be okay with never having control.

Not even for Logan.


	15. Phasing Possibility

He could smell her tears if he concentrated, so he shut off his heightened senses and stared straight ahead, arms crossed tightly in front of him and daring anyone to come within a five foot radius of where he sat.

Storm and Scott were up front piloting, and Kurt was still back with Mystique. Storm had asked the teleporter to stay and make sure her status didn't change for the worse, but Kurt would have probably stayed by her side anyway.

He hadn't said a word since they'd discovered the two in the cabin. Logan supposed that, in the end, blood would always run thicker than water.

Jean was sitting behind Logan, and was out for the count. He had noticed her snoozing on his way to talk with Marie, and Storm had mentioned that the Professor's mental use of her body to help quarantine Mystique's thoughts had exhausted her.

That left Kitty with the unlucky option of taking the seat next to Logan. She seemed very aware of Logan's mood, and nervously glanced at him every minute or so. She fidgeted a bit through his peripheral vision, but never said a word.

"Logan?"

Well, until now.

He didn't give her eye contact, but grunted slightly in acknowledgment. He wasn't in the mood to converse, but he figured the alternative of scaring her into silence might cause the kid to accidentally phase through the damn jet.

"Uhm, is Rogue okay?"

Rogue. Marie. He didn't want to think about her, but it was all he was thinking about. He wasn't mad at her, but he was damn well ready to slap her upside the head. She didn't understand that he wasn't worried about her skin because throughout her whole godforsaken life she'd been told she was a threat to others.

Mystique, Destiny, every asshole that'd ever tried to use her deathly touch for their own gain; they'd all made her truly believe she was untouchable the way she was now.

She wasn't untouchable—not if she'd let anyone close enough to try.

"She's resting," he finally said.

Kitty looked away for a moment, registering his answer, and Logan thought he'd shut her up for the time being.

"But _will_ she be okay?"

"Do I look like the Professor to you, half-pint?"

Kitty sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. Logan could sense her anxiety, however, which meant she knew she was walking on eggshells.

Damn kid was brave, he'd give her that.

"Look, I know it's not any of my business—"

"Yer right."

"—but if anyone's gonna know if she's gonna be okay, it's you."

This time Logan did look at her. She was hunched over her chair a bit, leaning near him to keep herself from talking too loudly for the others to hear. When he turned to look at her she quickly straightened up to remain out of arm's reach.

"Well, I _don't_ know," he replied gruffly.

"She wanted Mystique's, like, control of her powers though, right?"

Oh, why didn't he take the option of scaring the shit out of her? Kurt could've teleported and grabbed her if she _did_ phase out of the jet by accident.

"Something like that."

"It didn't work, though. And because she got her powers back way faster than the Professor thought, that meant it wasn't Leech's power making hers go away, right?"

Logan sighed and rubbed his face with one of his hands tiredly. "What's yer point, kid?"

"I heard Storm talking to Rogue earlier—she said it was possible this was just Rogue gaining control of her powers on her own, and that whatever triggered it musta happened during the whole Apocalypse thingy." This time Kitty did lean forward, even though Logan was glaring at her. "You think maybe it has to do with ... you know, you guys?" Kitty winked at him.

She freaking winked at him _and_ smirked.

A growl escaped Logan's mouth, wiping the accompanied smirk off of Kitty's face real fast. She sat back down and crossed her arms, pouting. "I'm just saying, you know. It's not like it isn't obvious to everyone about you two."

Logan gave her a look that could've rotted fruit, successfully shutting her up completely. He didn't reply to her apparent jab at him, but the comment about Marie having done this on her own perplexed him.

He didn't think it was him that caused Marie to gain her control—the little dance they'd been doing together had been going on since she first lost her check on the personalities inside her head. If she was truly in control of her powers without realizing it, it would have to be something that had happened during the span of touching Leech and re-entombing Apocalypse.

She had faced Apocalypse before, and he imagined any thirst for vengeance she had for the guy would be similar to vengeful feelings she'd have toward others.

That left Leech. Little, shy boy Leech.

Logan's eyes widened at a thought—perhaps the answer—to where Marie's control lay.

And it quite possibly had been in her all along.

* * *

He watched as Storm and Kitty helped Marie off the medical bed in the jet. He glanced at her only momentarily, their eyes locking—but the hurt in them made him look away, quickly descending the ramp before Marie could say anything.

As he exited into the large underground garage he saw the Professor, waiting patiently. He went up to him, ignoring Hank's odd glance at his hurried demeanor.

"We need to talk," Logan said, half tempted to wheel the Professor out of the room without permission.

The Professor nodded at him. "Certainly, Logan. Let me check on Rogue—"

"No. Now." Logan glanced back up at the jet and saw Storm and Kitty holding Marie between them.

He glanced back at the Professor, who was giving him a perplexed look. "All right, then." He turned his wheelchair but stopped, looking to Hank. "Hank, after you treat Rogue let her go to her own room for recuperation."

Hank nodded to the Professor and walked towards the trio now descending the jet's ramp, albeit slowly.

Logan followed the Professor to the hallway. Once they were in the elevators leading up to the main floors, Logan spoke.

"I need you to ask Rogue something for me." He kept his eyes on the elevator doors.

"Why can't you ask her yourself?"

"'cause she listens to you, and I don't think she'll take it seriously coming from me." The doors to the elevator dinged, and the two made their way down the hall towards the Professor's office.

As Logan shut the door behind him, the Professor asked, "Is this about your relationship with her?"

Logan growled a bit but kept his temper in check. He crossed his arms and leaned against a large bookcase. "There is no 'us,' and if there were I wouldn't need your approval," he said a bit too defensively.

The Professor smiled. "I never said I disapproved."

Logan looked up from his studying of the ground, somewhat surprised. "Of all people, Chuck, I'd think you'd disapprove more than anyone." He shook his head, glancing at the wall in front of him. "It doesn't matter, anyway. She's not ready for something like that, and I was stupid to think otherwise."

His voice was void of emotion, but inside he felt the twinge of sadness in the reality of his words said aloud. He couldn't, and wouldn't, persuade her into something that she wasn't sure of.

"She thinks her skin makes her unlovable."

It was a statement, not a question. Logan raised an eyebrow at the remark, but didn't say anything. What could he say to that?

The Professor wheeled himself a bit closer to Logan. "You know, Rogue's always been a special kind of person. She has all these memories inside her head, of peoples' lives and emotions and thoughts. Even after I had erased them when she first lost control, she had told me she found herself in the classical section of the movie rental store. The movies she had rented without really meaning to were some of Erik's favorites.

"No matter how much I erased for Rogue, pieces of everyone she's touched have always remained a part of her."

Logan watched as the Professor moved next to the window overlooking the property. His hands came together to form a triangle, elbows on his chair's armrests and clasped fingers resting thoughtfully at the base of his chin. "She has lived a dozen lives inside her head, and is far more mature than her physical age. It is unlikely Rogue could ever find someone as young as her that could fully understand what she's going through." He looked at Logan meaningfully.

Logan sighed at the last remark. "I get your point, Prof. But I'm not ever gonna force Marie into something she's not ready for."

Professor Xavier nodded. "I'm not saying you should. I respect your decision to distance yourself—it may help her understand better." He smiled a bit, eyes distant as he looked out the window. "Sometimes patience really is the answer."

Logan cleared his throat after a brief silence, all too ready to change the subject. "If she was the one controlling her power, I think I may know what triggered it." He shifted his position, straightening up from his slouch and raking a hand through his hair. "You think you could suggest it to her, see what happens?"

"Rogue does not take lightly to suggestions, as you know, but I can certainly try." The Professor turned to looked at him, curiosity etched on his aged features. "What do you think it is?"


	16. Touching Innocence

The Professor's office always reminded Rogue of a shrink's room: the chaise lounge chair, bookcases lining the walls with centuries' worth of information and history, and the framed diplomas of the Professor's education all made Rogue feel like she should have a pretty hefty invoice after each of her sessions with him.

Truth be told, the Professor should've been getting paid for dealing with the psychotic swirl of personalities she continually built up until her head imploded.

Her eyes lingered on some psychology books to her right, with titles that she could barely pronounce, much less understand. The Professor was at his desk across the room, speaking on the phone with what she guessed was routine business in running the mansion.

Her mind did enough prying without meaning to, so she opted to tune him out while she waited, enjoying just sitting on the plush chaise lounge and staring at books for no reason.

But what made it really enjoyable was the silence inside her head, thanks to the Professor's mental block on all the personalities she had absorbed.

The previous night, after Hank had taken care of her leg, back and neck, he had sent her to her room for some well deserved sleep. She managed to shift the covers enough to get under them but fell asleep before she could turn off the light.

She didn't wake up until three the next afternoon.

Rogue sighed a bit, leaning back in the chair and staring at the ornate ceiling above her, the crown molding so intricate it looked like wood foliage growing out of the corners of the walls.

The Professor had mentally called her not long after making it downstairs to eat something, reminding her that the mental block he had put up to obstruct Mystique's and the others' thoughts was only temporary.

So she begrudgingly made her way to his office, knowing he'd have to release all the personalities before completely ridding her mind of them.

Mystique herself was gone. Kurt had been by her side in the medbay for most of the evening, but had fallen asleep watching over her. Mystique must've woken up at some point in the middle of the night, shapeshifting into something small enough to exit through the vent in the room.

Rogue had only briefly seen Kurt on her way to grab something to eat—and he had avoided her completely.

He still thought she had been trying to kill Mystique, she guessed. That was something she was going to have to try and fix.

If it was fixable.

She sighed as her fingers drummed to an imaginary tune on her stomach. The gloves she wore were opera length, but were hidden beneath a heavy hooded sweater she essentially swam in. Sweat pants covered past her ankles, and the thick socks underneath them made her look like she was ready for hibernation in a cave somewhere in the northern tundra of Canada.

The thought of the continent made Rogue's mind drift to Logan, whom she hadn't seen hide nor hair of since departing the Blackbird.

He really must hate her now.

How stupid could she have been, letting it go that far? She was so damn worried about what the relationship would do to her that she didn't even consider how it affected him. She was such a moron, sometimes.

Now, after leading him along this far, she had to face the fact that he probably didn't want anything to do with her anymore.

"Rogue?"

Rogue jumped a bit at the Professor's voice right next to her. She glanced to her side and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, mah mind likes to forget who it belongs to sometimes."

The Professor smiled at the comment. "It's all right. I'm ready if you are."

"Ah'm never ready for this, but if it's gotta be done...." she let the rhetoric sentence trail, instead shifting herself so her head rested a bit higher on the thick arm of the chair.

The Professor, however, didn't move to his usual position behind her, where he could hover his hands at the sides of her head.

"Actually, Rogue, we're going to have you do the erasing this time."

Rogue balked. "What?"

"It's all right. Go ahead and sit up—I'll teach you."

Rogue did sit up, but not because he asked her to. "Professor, Ah can't erase mah own memories—Ah wouldn't even know where to start."

The Professor shook his head. "Not yours; Mystique's and Logan's."

"It's all the same up here!" Rogue tapped the side of her head with her index finger pointedly.

The Professor shook his head. "It's not, actually. Your memories are formed from different neuron synapses than the ones you absorb. You can manipulate the ones you absorb through your mutation, keeping what's needed and discarding all the rest that clutters your own thoughts." The Professor leaned forward a bit, grasping Rogue's clothed wrist gently and turning the palm of her hand upwards. "It's just like how I've been teaching you to try to absorb only what you need, selectively."

Rogue shook her head. "Ah've tried to, but Ah can't really separate their thoughts from their mutation."

"I think we were going about it wrong; you need their thoughts with their mutation to understand it, and to control it. What you need to learn to do is separate _those_ thoughts from all the rest."

He released her wrist, leaving Rogue's gloved palm hovering in the air. "Close your eyes and picture your outstretched bare hand, your palm connecting with Mystique's own."

Rogue swallowed hard, familiar with this phase of the session. She did as she was told, picturing Mystique across from her, her hand gently resting on top of Rogue's.

The Professor said he made her think about it that way to erase the guilt of purposefully or accidentally touching someone; this way the victim was voluntarily touching her.

Despite its absurdity, it almost always worked.

"Now picture your mutation as a beacon, glowing brighter from beneath your skin as the mutation takes hold of her, her thoughts flowing into you _slowly_."

Inside her mind Rogue's palm began to glow a bright blue. Instead of the usual drained feeling she always felt, however, only Mystique's thoughts rushed forward, returning to her as they had the night she had touched her. Her breath hitched at the abrasive intrusion and she focused intently on the Professor's stress to streamline it.

She groaned a bit but kept her eyes tightly shut, forcing it to slow down. There was so much information—an entire woman's life flashing before her eyes.

"Charles, I can't," Rogue whimpered to him, voicing his real name by accident as memories of Mystique's conversations with the Professor began to swim through her head.

"Yes you can, Rogue," the Professor soothed. "You have the ultimate control, here. Your mind is an infinite storage space for information—picture it that way."

"There's so much," Rogue complained back. Her hand had dropped and she bent forward, grasping at her head.

"Then organize them, like a file cabinet. Keep what you need and discard the rest." The Professor's hand came to rest on top of Rogue's head through her hair, the touch almost instantly transporting the Professor's mental projection of himself into her mind.

"How?!" she cried out to him, seeing him inside her mind as a whispery blur among the thousands of memories she had stolen from her mother.

"Detach yourself from them—they are only memories, cataloged inside your head."

Rogue concentrated hard, distancing herself from Mystique's memories—the little Anna Marie she saw was no longer her, but a simple character on a piece of paper identifying a memory from long ago.

Just when she thought that the idea was stupid and not going to work, it did.

Like a huge weight lifted off her shoulders, the memories that seemed to be a part of her separated and she could look at them objectively, filing away ones she wanted to keep—mostly of her as a child—and the ones she didn't want to keep, which were a hell of a lot of killing and deceiving.

The ones she kept she filed away under long-term memory—she wasn't sure how, but somehow that seemed to work. It was no longer at the forefront of her mind, but merely a fact, like learning the multiplication table in elementary school.

The Professor inside her head smiled at her. "Now do the same with Logan's thoughts," he urged her.

The inner Rogue nodded at him, Logan's form appearing inside her head and voluntarily touching her as Mystique had. The feel of his thoughts began surging through her and she quickly forced them away, disengaging herself from them.

Seeing her through his eyes was painful, now that she knew it was no longer like that. But she kept the thoughts anyway, hoping that they'd be comforting memories during lonely nights she was sure she'd have.

The memories of his past were haunting, and while she felt for him she knew they were not hers to keep; so she discarded them. If Logan ever wanted her to know about his past, he'd tell her.

She wasn't about to invade his privacy.

The Professor didn't tell her to, but with the newfound control she had she used the same technique to banish the people she'd touched in New Orleans, as well as Gambit's memories.

She had not realized that the card thrower had the power of empathy, too—and had used it to convince her to go along with his cockamamie scheme to rescue his father. He at least had seen Rogue as a good person, however, and those thoughts had made her want to help him, anyway.

Sometimes being a good person really sucked.

She essentially wiped all of their memories away, as she had no past with any of them. Gambit had some information regarding Magneto and some place called Genosha, so she filed that away to tell the Professor later.

When she was done, it felt like she had truly and finally cleared the clutter out of her mind.

She exited from her mild state of meditation, opening her eyes to the real world, both of them still in the Professor's office.

"I understand," she finally said to him, looking up to his real form sitting in front of her. His hand left her head and he smiled at her.

"You continue to gain better control of your powers," he observed.

Rogue sat up, feeling a bit prideful of knowing she was the one to silence all the personalities inside her head, especially Mystique's: it had been one of the harder forms for even the Professor to rid her mind of.

The Professor's statement made her shake his head at him, however. "It's not control; it's dealing with them."

"Rogue, control is more than just turning your skin off. Being able to control the thoughts you absorb is an equal part of understanding your power."

Rogue sighed, standing up and pushing her hair out of her face. "It's not the same an' you know it."

"I know you fear hurting someone as innocent and young as you once were."

Rogue had been walking toward the Professor's window, but stopped short of her destination. She turned to face him. "What?"

Professor Xavier's stare was intense, but Rogue did not look away. "Memories of your childhood through Mystique kept surfacing your own memories of touching Leech. Why is that?"

Rogue looked away, silent.

"It's all right, Rogue. What you feel is completely normal; you never absorbed a child's memories before."

"When Ah was little, Ah used to have the same thoughts ... Ah used the think Ah'd be better off dead." Rogue cringed a bit at the little boy's memories. "It was a bit unsettlin' seeing it from another child." She turned back to the Professor, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. "He was so innocent, like Ah was. And Ah used him, just like she used meh."

"You didn't use him, Rogue."

"Ah did," she whispered back, her voice a bit raspy from the buildup of emotion inside her.

"What is it your feeling right now, Rogue?"

The question threw her, causing her brow to furrow in both disbelief and confusion. "What do you mean, how do Ah feel?"

"Is it anger for not having control? Shame for hurting him? Or sadness for seeing your childhood feelings in someone else?"

"Ah don't know! Why're you asking meh this?!" Rogue's temper flared a bit at being judged for her thoughts; she would've thought the Professor of all people would understand where she was coming from.

"Which is it, Rogue?" he prodded again, sounding almost determined.

Rogue threw her hands up in the air. "Pick one! Leech didn't deserve the pain Ah caused him, just like Ah didn't deserve being made sick! Ah of all people should've been protecting him, and instead Ah used him for his powers like some freakin' hypocrite! Ah played right into his feelings of being helpless, not being able to control your own powers—Ah'm ashamed of myself for using him, afraid that Ah made him think he's only good for his powers...." Rogue's voice lowered, adding, "But most of all Ah'm angry that Ah was used to use him—Ah became exactly what Ah hate most." She rested her arms on the Professor's desk, her head hanging forward in defeat.

"Rogue."

She sighed, looking up as he wheeled himself next to her. "What?"

"Focus on those feelings—not how they make you feel, but what they are and why they are there."

She stared at him for a moment. "What?" she asked again, more incredulously this time.

"Those feelings may very well be the trigger to turning off your mutation." When Rogue began to voice her rebuttal, the Professor interrupted, "They are how you felt when touching Leech, are they not?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Take off your glove."

Rogue involuntarily flinched away from him. "What?! No."

"There's only one way to find out whether those feelings are indeed a trigger."

Rogue backed away further, retreating to the door leading out to the hall. "Ah'm not going to hurt you just to test some theory, Prof. Thanks but no thanks."

Professor Xavier only smiled at her, almost knowingly. "Very well, Rogue. But at least consider it."

She reached the door, opening it and giving the Professor an incredulous shake of her head. "Yeah, sure, will do." She paused long enough to place some sincerity in her voice before adding, "Thanks for teaching meh how to erase those memories, and all." As she hurriedly placed herself on the other side of the door and began to close it, she only saw a glimpse of the Professor's widening grin....

... Right before turning and ramming straight into Logan's chest.

"What the hell?!" Rogue said before she could stop herself, her hand coming up to her throbbing nose. She looked up at him, seeing a smile etching his features. "Logan! Sorry, Ah didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry about it. What's the rush?"

Rogue looked back at the closed door, then back to Logan. "Uhm, it's nothing...." Her voice faltered at the small smile still gracing Logan's lips. "What's so funny?"

Logan's smile disappeared then, and he shrugged slightly. "Nothing."

Rogue nodded, not really believing him but too anxious to prod. She bit her lower lip and glanced away, nervously tugging a strand of her white locks behind her ear. "Look, Ah'm sorry about earlier ... in the jet."

She looked up at him when his gloved hand nudged under her chin, forcing her to. "It's all right; believe it or not, I understand." His hand went back to his side, and he shrugged both of them into his jeans' pockets. "There was a time that I hated myself for what I was. Still do, sometimes. But I worked through it, with the Prof's help."

Rogue watched his demeanor intently, realizing that a bit of Logan's senses were still flowing through her. She could almost feel his heartbeat quicken as he told her his private thoughts.

She startled a bit when a hand went to her shoulder, protected by her oversized hooded sweater. "If and when you work through it, let me know."

His hand dropped and he sidestepped her, making his way down the hallway.

She turned to watch him, at a loss for words. He really did understand what it was like to hate yourself.

She knew that through touching him, more than anything else.

He couldn't possibly want anything to do with her, not as an untouchable woman. That wasn't a relationship at all, and he should know that.

She watched his retreating form, taking a step forward almost involuntarily. Maybe she should just explain herself to him?

"Logan!"

He stopped and looked back at her. This was the part where she was supposed to run after him and throw herself into his arms—right?

Instead, she walked toward him, her gloved hand rubbing the back of her neck anxiously. He didn't move, instead waiting for her to close the distance between them.

When she finally was about a foot away from him she said, "It's not that Ah hate myself—at least, Ah don't think it is."

He quirked one of his eyebrows at her but remained silent.

Her hand came down from her neck and she shoved both of them into her sweater, trying to avoid the nervous fidgeting she always did when she was speaking her mind.

"In mah head it's always been gaining control first—not just dealing with it. So when it came back the way it did, Ah just felt like Ah'd lost everything."

"You didn't."

She looked up at him, hesitation surely expressed on her features. She opened her mouth to protest, but he interrupted her.

"You need to be sure it's what you want, darlin'."

The statement made Rogue's breath hitch. Before really thinking she replied, "It is what Ah want! Ah'm just not sure it's what you want ... and whether it's sunk in that Ah'm not touchable anymore."

That same damn knowing smile imprinted on Logan's face, and she briefly wondered if memories of her using a scarf were what he was thinking about.

The thought almost brought a smile to her face, anyway. She felt his hand against the side of her hip, inching her closer. She glanced at it and back at him.

"I'm aware," he replied to her previous statement. The hand at her hip had closed the distance between them, and Rogue realized absentmindedly that her hands were still hiding within her sweater. She removed them, letting them instead rest lightly against both sides of Logan's waist.

His free hand came up, brushing the stray white locks that always seemed to find their way back to hiding Rogue's face. She savored the light touch of his gloved hand as it brushed her cheek and tucked the hair behind her ear.

"You want this," he said to her, "even with your skin."

Logan's closeness was all she could really think about, but his statement was more of a question and he was watching her, waiting for a reply.

She was beyond fully clothed, but his hand at her hip and the other grasping her arm, slowly cascading down and tracing its contours through the thick fabric were making her weak in the knees.

She supposed with Logan there would always be ways around her skin.

Her mind started to drift to endeavors with a scarf and she shook her head slightly, fully aware that Logan could probably already sense her arousal and what he did to her.

In a way, however, knowing he knew without her having to voice it was comforting. She realized he was still waiting for an answer and smiled, a blush inadvertently forming on her cheeks.

"Yes," she finally answered. "Even with mah skin."

"Good," he said. Then he kissed her.

It took Rogue far too long to realize there were no barriers between her skin and his, and that the taste of Logan without his very essence was all she was feeling.

It took her far longer still to shove him away, staring up at him incredulously.

"Logan!"

That knowing smile was once again on his face, and she finally realized why it was there.

"Mah skin is off again?!"

He nodded at her and glanced behind her. She followed his gaze and saw the Professor exiting his office.

"The feelings you described to me regarding Leech are indeed your trigger, Rogue."

Rogue looked at him, then back to Logan. "But Ah don't feel any different. How did you know?"

"Turning on and off your mutation requires a mental switch that I sensed occurring during our session. Logan, of course, could sense it through your smell." The Professor's smile grew a bit upon Rogue's dubious gaze at him, so she looked back to Logan.

A thought occurred to her, however, and her eyes went to her gloved hands. "It was in meh this whole time?"

"Touching Leech brought certain feelings to the forefront of your mind—give it some time and practice and you'll be able to control it with dexterity."

As when she first realized she could touch, a smile tugged at the corners of Rogue's lips even as her eyes expressed shock at the situation. She began thinking about the feelings she had touching Leech, trying to focus on what it was that made her turn her skin off.

A flicker of tingling flew through her skin and she gasped at it when she realized she had caused it.

"It's touching innocence," she mumbled. "The fear and shame of destroying it, like mahne was...." she looked at the Professor, shaking her head in disbelief. "How can Ah ever thank you?"

"I can't take the credit—it was Logan who came to me with the idea."

She turned to him, realizing what he had done before kissing her. He had coaxed her to be okay with their relationship—poisonous skin and all—before letting her know her skin had been off since she'd left the Professor's office.

"Why didn't you tell meh?" she finally asked.

"The Professor's a bit more subtle with his suggestions, and you're pretty damn stubborn."

"Ah should slap you," she replied, closing the distance between them again.

"Before or after thanking me?" he rebutted back at her.

She didn't slap him. The distance between them gone, she obediently—but meaningfully—whispered, "Thank you."

His knowing smile gentled, and he nodded his welcome to her. Forgetting about their audience, Rogue reached up and resumed what she and Logan had been doing prior to shoving him away.

As their kiss deepened and she felt Logan's arms snake around her waist, Rogue realized she was no longer her namesake.

After a decade of loneliness, Anna Marie could have a chance at life again.


	17. Epilogue

Her hair was fanned out across the pillow, her arms securely tucked under it. She was on her stomach, head turned to him and eyes closed in slumber.

The curve of her back and pale cheeks of her butt were only partially visible thanks to the sheet halfway covering her.

Logan had been watching her for some time now, enjoying the chance to ogle her without her getting on his case about it. She was distinctly modest about her beauty and didn't like the spotlight on her for any length of time.

One of the many things that made her Marie, as well as one of the many things Logan loved about her.

Her hair was a bit longer then when it had been when they first got together. She kept it trimmed, however, because she didn't like it too long—it reminded her of when she had absorbed Sabretooth.

Today marked a year since she'd gained complete control of her skin. A year since their relationship had become something more than friends.

It had scared the shit out of him in the beginning. He wasn't exactly a romantic, and had little idea of how to be in a relationship, much less be good at it.

Thinking back now, though, made him believe that he had winged it pretty well. Sure, there had been ups and downs, but the fact that she still spent most of her nights in his room essentially spelled out success to him.

He was sure he had love interests in his long lifespan, but he couldn't remember any of them. Before Marie he'd been accustomed to one-night stands—there weren't many people out there that'd understand a life like his, and far less who'd he be willing to open up to.

And, as far as he was concerned, Marie was the only person unafraid of sleeping next to a man with claws that had frequent nightmares of being attacked.

He called it suicide, she called it nonsense.

She also reiterated that she'd just drop his ass if he ever clawed her, anyway.

And that she could definitely do.

She stirred a bit, murmuring slightly about something in her dream. One of her arms reached out from beneath the pillow towards him, absently feeling for the presence she was now used to being next to her.

He scooted forward, wrapping his arm around her back and pulling her towards him. As her grasping hand found his waist, she hugged him to her, her head fitting snuggly into the curve of his neck.

"Stop starin' at meh," she mumbled sleepily. "It's creepy."

Logan smiled, one of his hands caressing her back while the other supported his head. "Sorry darlin', couldn't resist."

"Hmph," she simply replied, not quite awake to make her usual snappy remarks.

The silence reigned for a while, Logan stroking her back absently while Rogue fell back asleep. Besides their own relationship the past year had been dueling, with the hatred against mutants so great that the Mutant Registration Act was a stone's throw away from being initiated.

Magneto and his Brotherhood had been a constant nuisance, its members continually increasing as the hatred continued to spread. They were all on the brink of a war that would surely test all of them to their limits.

But right now, on this lazy Sunday morning, it was only him and Marie. And that he could do.


End file.
